


A Cuckoo In The Nest

by Limited_Edge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 'Detective' Harry, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Weasleys, Family Shenanigans with The Weasleys, Fluff, Humor, Literally a bunch of family feels, Multi, Slow Burn, Tom Riddle vs Feelings, which Tom tries to set on fire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2020-08-18 18:49:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20196385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limited_Edge/pseuds/Limited_Edge
Summary: Instead of confronting Harry in an epic snake-battle showdown, Tom instead takes complete possession of Ginny's body. Now, hidden among his new 'family', he bides his time, waiting for the moment to strike- the moment to kill the Boy Who Lived, and the Weasleys as well for good measure. It was the perfect plan......As long as he didn't get caught up in the act of being Ginevra Weasley.





	1. The Death of Ginny Weasley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom possesses Ginny - for good - evilly ruminates like a bond villain, and Harry senses a disturbance in the Force.

Tom opened his new eyes and smiled.

With a slight lurch, he rose onto shaky feet. It was a heady feeling, standing like this. Tom imagined that he could feel the blood pumping in his veins, the shift of his muscles sliding in glorious harmony. He lifted his hands before himself, admiring the barest hint of bone- of stability- to their edges, and ran his fingers up either of his arms. He frowned as his eyes took in the general overabundance of freckles gracing his pale skin.

_No matter_, he mused. His fingers trembled lightly as they continued to feel skin where once there was but pages and ink.

It took a moment for Tom to realize that the shuddering of his hands was actually due to his own silent laughter. He gave a shake of his head, and resolutely stepped forwards. He took in the chamber with his new eyes; it really was an unexpected blessing, the vision this body had. He couldn’t recall ever having seen the statues of Salazar Slytherin dominating the chamber in such detail. 

His stride was small, but again, it was no matter. His legs still carried him the following metres to the book lying in a puddle on the ground.

Slowly, aware of the shakiness still present in his body, he reached down and picked it up. It was rather wet, and the water logged pages needed to be carefully opened to stop them from tearing. He gently folded back the first page, which had stuck to the inner lining. And there it was, inked on the inside of the front cover and slightly bleeding due to water:

T. M. Riddle.

He closed the diary. He gave a final, reminiscing slide of his fingers over the cover- then hurled it across the chamber. It landed with a satisfying thud.

Tom smirked. He cleared his throat, and in his new, reedy voice, called, _“Come, monster of Salazar Slytherin- your master has need.”_

The faintest hiss echoed across the chamber in which Tom stood, slowing growing in volume, a thousand ripples coalescing as brushing scales made their way across the wet tunnels. It sent chills down Tom’s back.

Slytherin’s Monster emerged from the mouth of the statue in front of him, a terrible, beautiful sight that rightfully claimed its place as Tom’s first contact in his new, wonderful world

“_Your task is complete,” _he said, “_return once more to your slumber.”_ The immense snake gave a great hiss. Its eyes, though closed as Tom had commanded them to always remain in his presence, seemed to narrow. But though the snake was displeased, it was loyal.

_“As you wish, massster,”_ it drawled, a mocking edge present in its final word.

The basilisk gave a final, almost sarcastic bob of its head, and whirled around. It exited the chamber through a different tunnel along the side. Tom watched its tail flicker out of sight with a frown, listening as the rustling of its scales became fainter, and fainter… And finally ceased. The basilisk was certainly getting uppity. Too much time allowed free to roam the castle’s pipes, attempting murder and mayhem, perhaps.

It really was a shame that the Basilisk hadn’t succeeded in killing Harry Potter, but Tom’s presence in Hogwart’s took greater precedent. Potter was just a foolish, idiotic boy. He could wait.

It had taken a fair bit of force, having Ginny cast the imperius on that dunderheaded Hufflepuff, but the results were favourable. He had made her make him (wasn’t that something to wrap the head around) make up some contrived excuse to miss the scheduled quidditch match, and instead collect for Tom the necessary ingredients for the possession ritual that would allow him to take care of Ginny Weasley for good.

Proving that Quidditch _really _didn’t make sense, the ‘final’ match of the year was underway between Slytherin and Gryffindor because Hufflepuff couldn’t field a seeker, thanks to the way the points had worked out.

What a stupid sport.

Overall, it was of little importance to Tom. Once they found Tom’s final victim… Well, wouldn’t that be a rude awakening after the match? It was only another petrification, but a _pureblood_ in danger would likely see Dumbledore cast from Hogwarts’ gates for the time being while Tom reclaimed his bearings. Additionally, though Dumbledore would likely be reinstated (that old codger could sneak his way out of any responsibility for his actions), his record would be blackened, and the halfbreed would (hopefully) take the blame, as the attacks would, once _again_, stop if he was expelled from the castle.

The bumbling idiot would certainly serve his purpose then.

This may not be the best plan- nor the most comfortable, by _any_ means, Tom thought, and gave an idle tug downwards where his skirt had lifted. Yet, it was the best Tom had for him to remain within Hogwarts’ halls.

It would have been near impossible for Tom to have remained in the castle as a mysterious, unknown teenage boy (one that had, on record, been long dead), especially because the castle would be on high alert with the general fear from the attacks.

…But it wouldn’t be odd to see little Ginny Weasley, tucking herself into the stands to watch the end of the quidditch match, or sitting in the library, eating supper, and going to class; enjoying the ambience of the most wonderful, magical place in existence.

And of second importance to his stay… well, little Ginny was a _Weasley._ No one would ever suspect her of anything, much less commanding a thousand year old snake to stalk and attempt to kill at twelve year old boy. She could hide right beneath the nose of that daft fool Albus Dumbledore, with none the wiser, until the time was right.

And when the time was right…

Tom smirked again. He may have let Potter go this time, but he was patient. The boy likely had not a clue how he had survived, but Tom would find out. And once he knew the boy’s secret, the truth of defying the killing curse- well. Unlike his older self, _he _would not fail in killing a single boy. He had already killed Myrtle easily enough, after all.

Granted though, the Basilisk had done most of the work in that case. Perhaps Potter would actually be the one to help Tom finally pop his cherry.

…For murder, obviously!

Tom gave a flip of his red hair, and straightened his robes. A quick flick of Ginny’s wand removed the minor splotches and stains. He lifted his head, and, more confidently this time, strode towards the chamber’s exit. His ‘dearest family’ might be worrying about poor, helpless little Ginny.

Too bad for them she was already dead.

**Xxx **

“And Gryffindor wins! It’s been a hell of a match-”

“Lee!”

“Sorry Professor! But you have to admit, that was _incredible._ Who would have guessed we would have been able to witness a throw from the opposite side of the field make a goal from the wonderful Angelina Johnson, thanks to fantastic help of well-timed bludgers? Or that _lightning_ would have literally struck Flint after he said ‘Merlin himself strike him down if his penalty was truly earned’? Hah! That was the game of the century folks, and I for one am thrilled that it happened.”

“…You forgot the impressive set of saves by the reserve Slytherin goalkeeper,” McGonagall added, leaning over to speak into the mic. “I for one didn’t expect Ms. Farley to willingly lunge off her broom to catch the quaffle, or to kick the quaffle so hard it unseated Ms. Bell when she tried to catch it after said kick.”

“Huh. You’re right, Professor- everyone, three cheers for the Slytherin Keeper! She may have lost and been on the slimiest team in existence-”

“MR. JORDAN SO HELP ME-”

“-but damn if she didn’t do a fine job!”

Harry blinked as a sudden wave of cheers erupted from every stand for the blushing keeper on the Slytherin team, and tightened his fist around the snitch jerking within the confines of his right hand. It was odd to see the tall Slytherin girl so abashed, but she really had earned it. She was apparently their sub Keeper- she hadn’t played all year, but after a particularly wicked shot by Alicia Spinnet had struck the previous Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley, in the arm, he had had to step out of the game. Harry was glad that had only happened towards the end of the match. The girl really was a good Keeper, and the game could have been a lot closer if she had been playing from the beginning.

Grudgingly, Harry admitted that all of Slytherin had played rather well despite the game being last minute for them. He wondered if Diggory was actually more of a prick for pulling a fast one- on _both _teams- than the snakes themselves, by dropping out of the match suddenly like he had.

Wood suddenly swooped down towards Harry and tackled him to the ground, and the snitch escaped his grasp to parts unknown. “THERE’S MY PRIZED SEEKER! AND LOOK-” Oliver waved a large, golden cup in Harry’s face, while the rest of the Gryffindor team descended around him with beaming grins. “I SWUNG BY AND GRABBED THE CUP! OUR CUP!”

“First time- how’s it feel, Olly?”

Oliver sobbed into the cup in response, his arms wrapped possessively around it.

The mood was great. But despite the cheers from his teammates, Harry couldn’t help but feel that something was off. His stomach twisted uncomfortably, and a pressure pulsed behind his eyes, peaking up towards his forehead-

“Harry! Stop standing there all dazed and come celebrate!” Katie exclaimed. She leaned over and tugged at Harry’s arm, dragging him over to the huddle of rampant Gryffindor’s that were beginning to lift the Gryffindor Quidditch team above their heads. Oliver cradled the cup like a baby as he was hoisted up, crooning about his ‘precious’ while the twins acted like kings as they were raised as well.

Harry grinned. Why worry right now, when he should be celebrating his team’s hard earned victory instead? Especially while his schoolmates seemed willing to ignore his status as the ‘Heir’ for once? Broom in hand, he let himself be pulled behind Katie into the crowd.

It was probably nothing, anyways.

**XXX**

In the Chamber of Secrets, the corner of a diary on the ground edged into a nearby patch of water. For a moment, it seemed to tremble, the pages momentarily heaving as an unseen force banged within-

Then abruptly ceased.

The diary did not move again. It simply remained as it was- ruined, and lifeless.


	2. Shaping the Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hagrid's in Azkaban, the Golden Trio are not Heroes, and Tom is struggling to Girl(TM). As well, a suspicious set of twins almost crack the case, only to be derailed by (faulty) brotherly instincts.

“…with regret that I must say that Hagrid shall remain within Azkaban, at least until such evidence comes to light proving his innocence. I beseech you all to take care in the final month of school- the mandrake restorations will soon be ready for Misters Creevey, Flinch-Fletchley, and Diggory, but I fear that your safety is still at stake. As such, you will continue to be escorted by prefects and professors from your classes, and you…” Albus Dumbledore droned on. He had been back less than a week, and he was already nattering about the ‘injustice’ against Hagrid, and various precautions against doom and misery.

Tom snorted. If the basilisk was still free, none of these precautions would have done much good. It was likely though that Dumbledore knew the folly of these protections, and was just keeping up appearances- despite being reinstated, he was still under scrutiny.

Dumbledore had a generally good track record as headmaster; there were no dead children to his tenor (poor Dippet apparently hadn’t lasted long after Myrtle’s demise), while his victory against Grindelwald and resistance against Voldemort ensured that he was still respected. However, there were always leeches lurking in politics. They would continue to test the waters, laying low while waiting for Dumbledore to inevitably make the slightest mistake, and pounce. Albus had escaped this time, but barely. Now he was on thin ice.

Since returning to physical form, Tom himself had layed low. It was temporary, of course. Tom would never stand to remain in the shadows for an extended period of time. For now though, it was necessary.

So while Dumbledore eye-twinkled his way back into Hogwarts, Tom had been simply adapting to his new body and keeping a low profile. It had been embarrassing, how many times he had tripped, stumbled, and fallen in those first few days- his blasted legs had been far too short, which was not conducive to traversing the halls of Hogwarts. Tom had never realized before quite how many damned staircases there actually were, and how frequently they moved with people on them.

Those death traps could make a good murder weapon, to be honest.

Luckily, no one payed attention to Ginny on a good day, and she had lacked severely in the way of friends, so Tom had been able to discover the ins and outs of the female form undeterred, staircase trips and all.

…Which at least weren’t as bad as other, far more scarring lessons. Learning how to use the bathroom had been an… _experience_.

Regardless, he felt more confident now in his control of motor function. He hadn’t had time to practice his magic much as of yet, other than a few dismal spells, but he was sure that he would soon reach his previous proficiency again. And there were certainly perks to being made of flesh again which at least in part counteracted the horribleness of Tom’s inability to pee standing up.

Cutlery clinked like bells on the edges of Tom’s dessert laden plate. His fork bit into the edge of a flaky crust, and it gleamed as it lifted a heaping mound of glistening, sugar laden apple pie from his plate. Glorious, _glorious_ food- Tom would never doubt its worth again.

Tom took a bite of his apple pie, and finally turned away from the head table where Dumbledore continued to drone on. _Delicious,_ he mused. He took another bite. All those _spices_, and the _gooey warmth…_ _Mmm…_

“Ginny!”

Tom’s head wrenched at the angry interjection. Across the table from him was none other than Ronald Weasley, Potter’s pasty sidekick. He was frowning quite heavily.

“I’ve said your name at least six bloody times! What’s up with you?”

…Ah. In Tom’s defence, he wasn’t trained like a common dog to respond to such a plebeian name as _Ginny_. The girl had such a unique, _powerful _name- yet instead, she had screwed Tom over with her terrible choice in pet names for herself.

“Ginevra, if you would. And what seems to be amiss with you, dearest brother?”

Ron’s nose wrinkled. “Nothing with me, but _definitely_ something with _you._” He gave a slight lurch of his shoulders, and bit his lip. After a moment, he practically tripped over his next words. “Are- are you okay? Not that I’m too worried or anything, but you’ve been… quiet, and, I dunno, spacy? I know, its prob’ly a shock- you spent the first bit of the year hanging around Hagrid, helping him with the roosters at the start, so it must of been rough, and, uh… don’t worry, okay? ‘Mione’s already got some ideas on what to do for Hagrid.” Ron pursed his lips, his gaze now unnervingly focused. “Just… I wanna make sure you’re okay, y’know?”

What a nice sentiment of a concerned brother. Too bad Ginny was already dead.

“I assure you, brother mine, I am quite alright.” Tom sighed. “It is a shame what happened to Hagrid- I hardly dared to think he could have committed such a deed… Regardless, it _has_ been quite a dreadful year.” Tom drew up his shoulders as if he were mustering himself. “However, I do think the attacks have stopped. Now is the time for me to settle. I shall simply focus on my exams, and endeavour to do our family proud. Do not worry yourself with little ol’ me.” Tom demurely smiled, and inwardly congratulated himself on his acting. He had never failed to charm his intelligent, pureblood companions. Weasley, who was a veritable idiot in comparison, would be easy to string along.

Ron continued to watch him. Finally, he gave a decisive nod of his head. “Yeah, there’s something off ‘bout you, but we’ll be home in a month, and mom can worry all over you then instead of naggin’ me in letters to do it. Watch yourself- and stop shooting Harry your crazy eyes!”

Tom stiffly watched Ron rise from his seat, and head farther down the table to join the mudblood and Potter. The goddamn ‘golden trio’… Tom idly wondered if Dumbledore had arranged meetings (and indirectly, companionship) between them so that Potter would be part of what was basically Hogwarts idol group. He wouldn’t put it past the conniving old crackpot.

Unaware of Tom’s thoughts, they continued to converse quickly, their heads together as the mudblood furiously pointed at something within the pages of her book. Ron lifted his head again in Tom’s direction, but Tom made sure to look back down to his pie before their gazes could lock.

_Imbecile_, he furiously thought. Though clearly, not as much of one as Tom would have hoped. He took another bite of his apple pie. It tasted like defeat.

Ginny had prattled on endlessly within the diary about a plethora of things- Harry and her lack of friends, most of all. Tom likely knew more about Ginny’s fears and worries than any other person alive. Yet he wondered at how much that truly reflected her. People, after all, hardly showed their true selves in public, and knowing what someone was like when they were weak did not mean you knew what they were like when they were strong (however laughable the idea of Ginny being strong was).

What mask had Ginny worn that Tom would have to learn?

Alas, he might never know. The best he could do was ‘reshape’ Ginny more to his image, while trying to fill the gaps with what he assumed the Weasley’s expected. If Ron’s reaction was any indication, the pleasant words and courtesies appreciated by purebloods were not the tools he would need to infiltrate the Weasley home. They were so very… _muggle_, being blood traitors and all.

And in less than a month, he’d be in close quarters with all of them. _Disgusting._

Tom sighed, and seeing his previously appetizing food was now a lost cause, returned his focus once more to Dumbledore. The man had finished his speech while Tom was thinking, but he was still there, up at the head table, sitting without a clue that his imminent demise would someday come in the form of a possessed ginger.

Two seats down from Dumbledore, Gilderoy Lockhart caught Tom’s attention. He was guffawing at something Professor Sprout had said, though she didn’t seem nearly as amused, if at all. She hadn’t smiled much since another of her Puff’s had been attacked. Too bad the basilisk hadn’t made more headway culling the population of those sneaky bastards.

Hufflepuffs were _too _nice after all. They had to be up to _something,_ and mark Tom’s words, it would be a Hufflepuff that destroyed the world if they weren’t kept in check via supernatural methods. Case in point, the delightful mass murdering (petrifying) snake that Salazar had handily provided, _likely for this very reason._

Plus mudbloods too, of course.

Tom broke from his musing to continue to watch the soap opera like shenanigans of teachers in their natural habitat. The DADA professor gestured wildly with his cup, and a bit of what Tom assumed to be wine spilled onto Professor McGonagall beside him.

McGonagall viciously said something to him, sharply gesturing at her soiled clothes. Lockhart quivered and raised his wand. He went to wave it in her direction, only to be stopped by her hastily clamping a hand on his wrist. She efficiently cleaned the mess herself, while the man blathered at her, likely extolling some ludicrous story in which he had previously saved a life by being a bumbling idiot.

It was quite the contrast- McGonagall, who Tom could grudgingly admit to being a competent teacher, against Lockhart, the windbag waste of oxygen.

Tom narrowed his eyes. He had heard about the ‘curse’ on the DADA position (how that was possible, Tom hadn’t that faintest) but he hoped it held true. If it didn’t, he’d be forced to resort to murder far sooner than he would have liked.

The DADA position was _Tom’s_. He could stomach a place holder, but not a buffoon.

Tom’s eyes dragged down from Lockhart back again to an equally unsavoury buffoon- precious, perfect Harry Potter, the ultimate pawn in the old man’s game. The boy was completely underwhelming. Very fidgety, and unable to keep a handle on his wild mess of hair. Potter’s hands were occupied by a lumpy book, and he seemed very focused on what the mudblood was saying. Tom’s initial impression when Potter had first written in the diary remained. The boy was an average nobody that thought himself a hero. There was no conceivably special thing about him that should have allowed him to survive the killing curse, and somehow defeat Voldemort.

It was nauseating to think about. Tom’s blood boiled at the continued sight of Potter, but he tempered his outward hatred with the pleasant thoughts- thoughts of Potter’s broken body, laying lifeless on the ground-

Potter’s eyes flashed up to meet his.

Tom startled. An irrational piece of him wondered if Potter was secretly a legilimens.

Potter seemed just as surprised to meet Tom’s gaze. He glanced at some point behind Tom, then once again met his eyes. His brow furrowed, and, after blinking a few times, he slowly turned back to face the mudblood. She furiously whispered something, and Potter shook his head.

What was that about?

Suddenly, a pair of hands clamped onto Tom’s shoulders. He gave a muffled squeak (damn this girlish body!), and with a flinch, turned around.

“Darling sister-”

“What has you-”

“Making faces that-”

“Could curdle milk?” The Weasley twins grinned down at him, not a pair of hands, but a hand each from the pair having been those to grab his shoulders.

Tom opened his mouth to make a good defence, then tensed, his lips sealing shut. Pretty platitudes had gotten him nowhere with Ron, and the twins appeared far more perceptive and devious.

He took too long to respond. The twin on the left gave a mocking gasp, and pointed in the direction of Potter. “Blimy, Gred, it must be love!”

‘Gred’ swooned. “So it must! Precious little Ginny, ripe with sour love, and for the Heir of Slytherin no less!”

Tom gave an involuntary snort. Potter, the Heir of Slytherin? _Ridiculous_.

The left twin stuck his finger towards Tom’s face, and Tom’s eyes tracked the motion of the incoming appendage that missed his nose by less than an inch. “A snicker? I say, one does not mock the Heir of Slytherin! Gred, this must not stand!”

“Too right, Forge!” ‘Gred’ replied. Before Tom could resist, they had swooped him up into their arms and above their heads.

“Put me down, you moronic heathens!” Tom hissed.

“Ah, don’t say such things Ginny-”

“Someone might think you don’t like us!”

Tom tried to reach for the wand within his pocket, but the bouncing motion of being carried inhibited him. There was always wandless magic, but the most Tom had managed to force his new body to accomplish was moving a feather a few inches. Besides, even if he _could_ move his wand to his hand, it would be highly suspicious of Ginny Weasley to know wandless magic.

Despite how _muggle_ and uncivilized it made him feel, and worse, how it reminded him of his own brawls at the orphanage before he had put the feat of God in the other children, Tom thrashed in their grip. The twins were stocky and strong though, so they easily kept a hold of him. There would be no escape. There was nothing else Tom could do. So…

What would Ginny do?

…Well, if she had six brothers that frequently _carted her like a sack of potatoes,_ then probably curse like a sailor.

And curse the twins Tom did. It was surprisingly cathartic, though all the twins did in response was laugh and chide his ‘unladylike mouth’.

The twins finally set him to the ground after ducking behind a painting outside of the Great Hall. Tom had no idea how they got behind the painting- he was too distracted from being jostled- but here he was. A bit more fumbling resulted in him dumped on a chair, unable to see in the dark space.

“_Lumos._”

A blindingly bright wand was held towards Tom’s face, and he squinted under the assault. He narrowed his eyes up at his captors, who were grinning, but otherwise not giving any indication of what they had planned. He had already lost track of which twin was which, for all it the good it did with their fake names, so he had no clue who was saying what next.

“We noticed you, Ginny, giving Harry quite the attention-”

“Glaring daggers, actually-”

“So we couldn’t help but wonder why-”

“The boy wonder has fallen from your favour.”

The twins gave her an expectant look. Tom felt bland realization shivering across his back like a dementor’s grazing hand.

Right. Ginny had a _crush_ on Potter.

Oh, God…

Tom shifted. How to play this? “I, well, recently I’ve noticed, that Harry is- not- he isn’t that perfect. He’s a twelve year old boy. He smells, and Ron’s always attached to him like a limpet. And he’s always with the bookworm m-muggleborn… Who honestly scares me, because she’s constantly trying to be ‘encouraging’ with my grades.”

Internally, Tom winced. _Smooth_. He had no clue what blasted Ginny Weasley and her terrible sense in nicknames would say. Acting like a pre-pubescent girl, as a teenage boy himself, was _not_ a skill he had, or frankly, a skill he should be _expected_ to have.

Luckily, he hadn’t said mudblood, or anything completely out of character with what Ginny had thought- or wrote, as it were. Even the bit about the mudblood!

The twins shared a look, before looking back at Tom. They both simultaneously raised and crossed their arms, mirroring each other as a hand came up to hold either of their chins in a thinking manner. “So, little sister-”

“It is not the rumours-”

“But instead Harry’s smell-”

“That has you giving him the ‘stink’ eye?”

Rumors? Oh, right- Tom had heard whispers, but he had immediately cast them aside, partially because he didn’t care, but mostly because they were ridiculous compared to the truth Tom already knew.

The student body was of three majority minds. There were those that believed Hagrid was the culprit of the attacks, others who thought he was innocent, and a third group, inbetween, which was by far the largest, and containing nearly all of Hufflepuff house. Those who thought Hagrid was innocent, and that _Potter_ was the true heir of Slytherin.

As if the rat nest headed boy could even _dream_ of living up to such a legacy.

“You thought I was glaring at Potter because of some outlandish rumours saying he’s the _heir_?” Tom shook his head, and despite himself let the truth leak out. “What I feel about Potter is based solely on his own merit.”

With any luck, Tom could craft Ginevra into an individual _not_ obsessed with Harry Potter, thank you very much.

The twin on the left frowned. His hands dropped, despite the way it made the other twin tense slightly. Left-twin narrowed his eyes. “His own merit? We like Harry, but if he said or did something…”

The other twin’s eyes widened, before he narrowed them as well. “Say the word, Ginny.”

Tom blinked, caught off-kilter by the sudden turnaround. But not displeased; inwardly, he smirked. He cast his gaze towards the ground. “Just… it’s nothing.”

“What’s nothing?”

“…It was stupid. He just may or may not have worded exactly how he felt about my _feelings_ for him in a particularly unpleasant way.”

Best to leave it vague. Tom knew from experience that the conclusions you allowed others to reach with suggestions were more persuasive than any bold-faced lie could ever be.

“Please don’t tell him I told you,” Tom whispered. “He already thinks I’m enough of a pest…”

The twin that had first jumped to his defence softened. He carefully placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Ginny, it’s alright. Harry’s not a bad bloke, but guys… Are guys.”

The other twin snorted. “That’s one way of putting it.” He gave Tom a small smile. “You just pick yourself up, alright Ginny? You can be kind of pest… but you’re _our _pest. We’ll rough Harry up a bit in a ‘friendly’ way, play it as a prank. Give him what he deserves, eh?”

Potter deserved far more than some childish prank, but it would be satisfying to see him humiliated. Tom smiled, darting his eyes up in a timid gesture. “Thanks, guys… and, I know it’s strange, but could you call me Ginevra? I just… don’t feel like Ginny fits anymore.”

“Course, Gin…nevra. ‘Course.”

“Thanks. Now- can you let me go?”

“Your wish is our command!”

With a flourish, the twins opened the entrance to the side chamber. Now that it was properly illuminated, Tom was able to see that it was rather large. In fact, it appeared to be an out of use classroom, hence the chair that Tom was sitting on. A chalkboard took up the entire back wall, and it was covered in unclear writing- formulas, possibly- and all the chairs and desks were pushed to the side. Three cauldron’s sat at the room’s center.

Tom wasn’t able to observe for long. The twins once again swooped him up into their arms, and he was deposited outside the painting without further ado. By the time he looked back, the room was closed.

The painting itself was of a two headed bird flying. Tom remembered walking past it every day on his way to breakfast, but he had never known that an entire _classroom_ lay behind it.

It left Tom a little disgruntled- Hogwarts was _his _home. He knew it best,_ not_ the Weasley twins.

“Well, Ginny- sorry, Ginevra- we’re off to plan chaos and glory in the name of your honor-”

“So don’t be a stranger! And good luck with those exams. Or flub them like we do. It’s always a good show to work Percy into a tizzy over grades.” The twins each gave him a final grin, and strolled off down the hallway. Once they were out of sight, Tom allowed himself to finally smirk.

Hook, line and sinker.

Granted, he had had to heavily play off the twins ‘brother instincts’, but he was sure that he could make them dance to his tune again when needed. It was a good sign. He had been caught off guard by Ronald, but this interaction proved that Tom hadn’t lost his manipulative touch. The whole family, and later Dumbledore, would be eating out of the palm of his hand.

Tom turned back to the painting. He felt along its edges, cast a variety of detection charms, and even tried forcing through its canvas, to no avail. He frowned. Slowly, he turned away. One dusty classroom was useless- not even worth his time.

What to do now?

Tom gave it a moment’s consideration, before the obvious venture dawned on him. Rather than worry about the ins and outs of Ginny Weasley… He could find out more about Voldemort, his future self.

Know yourself first, and then your enemy.

It wouldn’t do to kill Potter before he was sure of his course of action, or before he could find the best truth possible on the events of that Halloween all those years ago- with details _not _ embellished by a girl who had played ‘Princess and the Potter’ growing up. He needed to know how he had lost, so he wouldn’t fail again. He needed to lie in wait, not striking at his enemy until the time was right.

Because Tom was, first and foremost, a Slytherin. He was devious, cunning, and the most brilliant and powerful wizard of his time. He would plan, and wait in the shadows, hidden behind the cover that was Ginevra.

Neither Dumbledore, and much less the Weasleys, would see their demise coming till it had already occurred.

**XXX**

“So Gred…”

“Yes Forge?”

“You agree, right? Ginny- sorry, ‘Ginevra’- was acting _reaallllyyyy _weird, right? Like… A _lot _different?”

“Yeah…” Fred’s brow furrowed, and he leaned against the wall of the hallway. “She seemed… Kinda proper, you know? I almost ignored it, cause she did cuss us out before, but there was definitely something going on with her. Do you think it really was just all that stuff with Harry?”

George shrugged. “Dunno. But pranking him is worth a shot.” George’s eyes suddenly widened. He darted his head back and forth down the hallway, and after checking that the coast was clear leaned in to whisper to Fred. “You don’t think that she got her… _y’know…”_

Fred blanched. Him and George shared a look, and shuddered, theres gazes flinching away from each other’s.

“Yeah, we can probably cut her some slack for acting weird if she’s dealing with her own bloody niagra falls…”

A sudden thump interrupted the twins. Their eyes jerked towards the source of the sound, and to their astonishment (and joy) Percy stumbled out of a classroom along the hallway…

…Lips-locked with Penelope Clearwater’s.

The twins instantly descended. “Merlin Percy!-”

“Have you no shame?”

Percy wrenched away from Penelope, who in turn shot a disgruntled look at the grinning twins. Percy froze, his eyes widening behind is askew glasses. “No, this is a bad dream,” he mumbled, “first Ginny, now you-”

Fred gasped. “You allowed Ginny to see such a scarring sight?!” Fred turned towards George and tsked. “Dear oh dear, Forge of mine, it looks like our older brother is in the habit of emotionally scarring our sister. No wonder she was acting so… _strange.”_

“Indeed!” George dramatically continued. He squinted at the trail of opened buttons of Penelope’s shirt, then shifted his gaze to Percy’s neck, which was blossoming with a telltale bruise. “Getting frisky, huh?”

“Yes, so buzz off,” Penelope drawled.

The three Weasleys paused. All of them looked back at her with wide eyes.

Fred whistled.

At Penelope’s narrowing gaze, he threw up his hands in surrender, and with George in tow, backed away around the corner, identical, diabolical grins blossoming on their faces as they slinked away.

Penelope bobbed her head. “There we go.” She turned back to Percy and smirked. “Now where were we before you opened that door?”

Percy’s face went bright red. After a minute of his flustered stutters, Penelope rolled her eyes and put a finger to Percy’s lips. “I get it,” she said. “I’ll see _you_ tomorrow for our rounds.” She winked, and with a swish of her skirt, strode off down the hallway.

Percy watched her go with a mildly sappy expression, though his face slowly shifted into something more pensive.

“Scarred…” he mumbled. His eyes suddenly widened. “Oh, shit! Mom will be pissed if I don’t sort this out!” He raced down the hallway to parts unknown, muttering to himself all he could remember about menstrual cycles and hormonal urges.


	3. You Are Your Own Worst Critic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom's library search history yields nothing, Hermione embraces her inner revolutionary, and Percy is walking Trauma personified.

Thirty-eight years.

A third of the average wizard’s lifetime. An abundance of time, in general. Enough events could fit within its course that history became knotted, and difficult to parse through. You could complete a mastery- two masteries- _three_ masteries in that amount of time. Napolean Bonaparte had conquered the greater part of Europe in less time than that.

Thirty. Eight. _Years._

Tom didn’t scream in frustration, but it was a near thing.

_What the _hell _had Voldemort been up to?_

The newspapers within Hogwarts’ library were the epitome of unhelpful. They chronicled plebeian accounts, only spotted three decades after Tom’s graduation with the beginnings of disaster, and when things got juicy, were so overrun by hysteria and corruption that Tom couldn’t tell up from down.

Records weren’t much better. Tom (or rather, the branched version of himself that hadn’t been confined to the diary) had achieved the title of Head Boy (obviously), an award for services to the school (kicking Hagrid out was apparently a grand feat), attained a mention for exemplary NEWT scores, and… vanished.

It was only after Tom had lowered his standards to look in Gossip bits of the Daily Prophet, of all things, that he found himself mentioned by Abraxus Malfoy to be working at Borgin and Burkes a few years after he had graduated. _Borgin and Burkes._ Just… why? How had Tom fallen so far to end up working in what amounted to antique _retail_ in the wizarding world?

Most important of all- why hadn’t he become Hogwart’s DADA professor?!

After taking a few days to calm himself down (accomplished by blowing up some chairs in the Room of Requirement) and plot… _things, _Tom had finally been of a level enough head to objectively view his future… or past? It didn’t really matter.

What did matter was this.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, after the somewhat intentional death of Myrtle, scapegoating of Hagrid, and completion of dark and terrible rituals involving his trusty diary, had:

Layed low.

Graduated.

Layed low.

Became a labourer for the ‘venerable’ establishment of Borgin and Burkes.

Was an afterthought mention in Abraxus Malfoy’s induction into his high position at the Ministry of Magic.

Layed… low. For_ thirty years._

Upon which time’s end, he had!... emerged? From the shadows, backed by a large assortment of ‘death eaters’ (what happened to the Knights of Walpurgis??), and proceeded to cause blind anarchy.

Granted, there were some good bits mixed into the next eight years. There had to have been, for his name to become so feared that he was relegated to ‘you know who’, with everyone who was someone always seeming to know exactly which ‘you’ he was.

A few halfblood lines, cleansed. Three major attacks, the one in Hogsmead taking fourty lives. A fear campaign emerging, with clear strings being pulled from within the ministry. The apparent use of Inferni in his schemes, and smaller strikes against muggle settlements. Some sort of deal made with giants, and increasing numbers of werewolf attacks.

But.

_But._

Just when Tom had apparently began to increase his pressure- when his terrorist reform campaign had finally rooted itself as a problem, his title synonymous with ‘dark lord’, his ranks growing-

He. For no clear reason. Attacked Lily and James Potter, along with their newborn son.

And lost.

Of course, it was here that the newspaper’s finally surged with information, though much of it was complete garbage. Theories on precious little Harry, “The Chosen One”, and his victory against the upcoming dark lord ranged from Potter familial line super powers, magic itself intervening to bless Harry, and, Tom’s “favourite”- Lily Potter’s power of love protecting her son.

He set that newspaper on fire.

A small consolation was the Potters’ deaths, along with the reveal of a truly loyal follower in one Sirius Black. That family really was _filled_ with his supporters.

The later results of his demise ruined any consolation provided.

Mass death eater trials- dozens of them. Anyone who escaped doing so by claiming Imperius, and from what Tom could infer, an immense amount of pocket lining for their judge. While Tom could be sure he had many loyal followers, most of them were in Azkaban, including Sirius Black, the wonderful traitor who basically killed two of his best friend for Voldemort, and his cousin, the zealous and psychotic Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black.

Outside of Azkaban, there were probably (hopefully) loyalists as well who had faked being cursed.

_But which ones?_

By value of them covering up their crimes, Tom had no way of knowing exactly which of the purebloods who had escaped Azkaban were _his_. Even Severus Snape, who appeared to be Dumbledore’s lapdog, could still potentially be a loyalist, considering his known hatred for Potter.

Tom glared down at the family portrait of the Malfoy family depicted in his currently opened newspaper. All that long blond hair… probably full of secrets.

His secrets? Hell if Tom knew.

In the end, Tom was left in the library two weeks later, more questions on his mind then when he had started with hardly any answers to show for his research. He couldn’t even read too much into his future self’s intentions. There wasn’t a convenient diary he could open to uncover his future- Past? Self’s innermost thoughts and reasoning.

So much for knowing yourself before your enemy.

What Tom really needed was a bit of a pick-me-up. Something truly wholesome and enjoyable to get his mind off all this nasty business.

He knew just the thing.

Tom grinned, and entertaining a moment of whimsy, leaned his chair onto its back two legs. Still balanced, he gave a quick wave of Ginny’s wand towards the stacks of books and newspaper clippings that littered his table of the library. Sluggishly, the books and clippings lifted themselves upwards, and lazily meandered their way towards their proper shelves.

Tom’s nose wrinkled as he stared down at Ginny’s old wand. He gave it a brisk shake, and the items increased their soaring pace.

The front legs of Tom’s chair slammed against the ground. With a surge upwards, Tom rose from his seat, stance wide and eyes focused. He gave a careful pat down of his skirt, a quick comb through of his hair, and a hiss as his fingers tangled midway through said hair.

He really needed to learn some hair-care spells.

No matter. Tom turned towards the entrance of the library, and resolved himself to look towards his most immediate goal. Potter and Voldemort could wait.

His future job was in danger.

Tom smirked. With a skip to his step, he headed for the exit of the library- and was promptly attacked.

“GINNY! You agree that the atrocities committed in the name of the so called ‘law’ are unjust and demeaning against the rights of wizardkind, correct?!”

The bushy haired menace that currently had a death grip on Tom’s shoulder leaned in closer, her wide and demented brown eyes alight with unholy fire. “Innocent until proven guilty!” she commanded. “Yet true justice rots in Azkaban with the hearts of honest men!”

Tom swatted at the mudblood’s hand, and wrenched himself away from the iron grip that had pinned him while the mudblood hissed at the sting coming from her recently slapped her fingers.

"Is this how you greet people, Granger? By assaulting them in public places meant for quiet, relaxation, and study?"

The mudblood's cheeks coloured a splotchy red, and she whipped her hand back to her side. Her other hand was occupied by three massive books that were likely older than Dumbledore himself. "I- I'm sorry, Ginny- it's just, with Hagrid in Azkaban, and the true Heir of Slytherin having never been caught, I've been rather on edge. To try and make things better, I've been researching wizard law." She shifted the books in her possession, twisting them so that Tom could read the long and detailed title of the first: “Practitioners of Preius Guide to Elementary Law and Associated Rulings of Court: Beyond the Charters”.

Just speaking a title like that could probably induce a stroke.

The mudblood gave a loving caress of its cover, and sighed. "Ron and Harry have been helping me,” _probably because you strong armed them to_, Tom thought wryly, “and from what we can tell, by standard wizarding law, it's illegal to throw someone into Azkaban without ironclad evidence unless it’s a time of crisis, such as during the terror of You Know Who. Hagrid needs to be freed!" She stared imploringly towards Tom, practically vibrating with her barely contained humanitarianism.

Tom snorted. "So, three students getting petrified _wasn’t _a time of crisis? They still haven’t been revived… And you thought that assaulting me would help save Hagrid how?"

"They’ll be fine- it’s the truth now that needs to be spread!" The mudblood set her books on the ground, and reached within a satchel thrown over her should. From its depths, she procured a piece of paper. "This is a petition," she said, eyes unnaturally focused on Tom. "If we get even a hundred signatures from students who interacted with Hagrid on a daily basis, we could-"

"We?" Tom interrupted. The mudblood blinked, as if she had forgotten that Tom was a sentient human capable of individualistic thought. "There is no 'we'."

"But Ginny-"

"But nothing." Tom nearly rolled his eyes, but thought better of it. Ginny probably had never had the backbone to be this resolute, if the disbelieving expression on the mudblood's face was anything to go by. He should probably tone it down.

"I sympathize with the predicament, but I myself have no 'ironclad evidence' proving that Hagrid is innocent. The attacks did cease once he was sent away." Tom allowed his lower lip to tremble. "I- I know it might stupid, but I think it’s best to just leave things as they are. Rocking the boat might just start the attacks again." Tom reached forward, and despite internally cringing at having to touch someone of such lowly blood, placed his hand on the mudblood's shoulder. "It’s like you said- the students will be fine. I’m sure if we leave it be, everything else will fall into place, Granger."

Internally, Tom pumped his fist. An eloquent escape from the mudblood, and the seed to deter further overtures planted. He was on fire!

But, instead of sighing and agreeing with Tom’s well thought out rebuttal, the mudblood narrowed her eyes. "Ginny Weasley, I never took you for a coward. It’s a mystery why you’re in Gryffindor." She jerked her shoulder, shunting Tom’s hand off to awkwardly fall to his side. Without another word, the mudblood stuffed her petition back in her bag, picked up her books, and spun away on her heel with an indignant huff.

Tom's lips pinched. That damned child was quite troublesome, and refused to see reason. Society would never allow for such change that would embrace someone of unsightly blood like Hagrid.

The only way to rise to the top was by working from within its structure, and embracing the blood purist ideals that kept it going. Tom had learned this- why couldn’t someone lauded as being intelligent like her see that her opinion was worthless?

Anyways, there was no way Tom would ever allow himself to be associated with something that could free Hagrid. _But_… considering the girl's friendship with Ron and Potter, it wouldn't do to allow his own thinking to cloud his mind when her gossiping about his behaviour could lead to his discovery.

Tom sighed, and walked back towards the towering bookshelves. It took a quarter of an hour, and more wiping of dusty books than he would have liked, but he found what he needed. He cast a featherlight charm on the books, and without having to bear their true weight, carried them to the main area of the library. A quick scope found the mudblood tucked away at a corner table already laden with books. Her bushy head was the only one bent over its surface, but the crumbs and ajar chairs at the opposing side hinted that her companions had been there recently as well.

Her head whipped upwards as Tom slammed his assortment of books down. The titles read: “Law- a beginner's guide”, “Loopholes and Logistics- The Secrets of Law”, and “Cases of Most Foul Confoundment”. They were infinitely better reading options than the needlessly complicated garbage that the mudblood had latched onto.

As Tom would know. Any good Dark Lord in the making needed to know just how illegal their future actions would be.

The mudblood’s eyes widened, but before she could open her blithering mouth, Tom beat her to the punch. "I'm NOT a coward. And a difference of opinion does not mean you can treat someone like they’re stupid."

Which was complete garbage, of course. Anyone who thought differently than Tom was almost certainly an idiot, undeserving of any acknowledgement, after all.

The girl blinked, then smiled. She opened her mouth, possibly to spout some nonsense about working together for the betterment of mankind, but Tom already felt he had done his part to hold up a Gryffindor standard. Much like the mudblood had done earlier, Tom spun on his heel and made his exit. He could see why she had done it. It was quite satisfying to break away from a conversation in such a way that left you the last one to have made a solid dig.

Finally, Tom reached the doors of the library. Just as he was exiting, none other than Potter and Pasty entered.

"...and the whispers of death have stopped. Coincidence? _I think not_," Potter said.

"Blimy, you really can't let go, can you?" Ron sighed. "We didn't find anything other than sheds, and for all we know those could have been hundreds of years old." Ron took a large bite of the sandwich in his hand and lifted his head from Harry towards the entrance of the library- where Tom was standing.

Ron froze as his gaze caught Tom's. He looked back at Harry, then to Tom again. Then at his sandwich. Then back to Tom. He swallowed, and weakly grinned. "Studying hard, Ginny...vra. Ginevra?"

Nice save.

Not.

Tom hummed. "Not really. What have YOU been up to, Ronald? Hopefully nothing dangerous, considering you seem to think the Heir of Slytherin is still afoot."

"You think he isn't?" Potter interrupted. His gaze was surprisingly intense.

"I think that making a quick judgement is stupid, and charging in blindly is a death sentence. I would hope that someone of your track record knew that, but I suppose it makes sense that you don't, considering you still always seem to be central to any and all unusual events in this school. And that's something I know after only knowing you this year."

Harry blinked, and despite Ron gaping beside him, squinted at Tom. "I think that's the most you've ever said to me, Ginny."

...Shit.

Fate though, was on Tom's side. Before Harry could ask any more questions that would surely lead to Tom blowing through his cover before he was ready to murder the little brat, what felt like divine intervention occurred. One moment, Potter and Pasty were standing before him with snacks in hand, just outside the entrance of the library. The next, there was an _explosion_.

Or at least, what felt like one.

Tom gave a flick of Ginny’s wand, and sluggishly, the spell did its work to clear the dust that clouded the air before him. He was glad he did. The boys were likely less happy about it.

The entire library, which was crowded thanks to the upcoming exams, crowed at the sight of the boy who lived and his sidekick covered in green sparkles. The glitter continuously flaked off them to form words in the air- “I need a shower”, “Heir with the Hair”, “Watch Out: Puberty Hazard”, among many others. Ron went to exclaim his indignation, but the result made the prank all the more glorious.

"Whom dareth affect upon my person such discord? Hear ye! Mine voice is not of mine command! Comrade Potter, howst dost this occur?!"

Tom didn't stay to hear Potter response. He snuck past the distracted boys, a smirk splitting his face. The twins weren’t complete imbeciles.

And well, with the opportunity there…

Tom subtly cast a diagnostics charm in Potter’s direction, a particularly discrete one. No one would know he had cast it, but it took a while for it to ‘reveal’ its results. Luckily, only the caster was able to see said results after twenty four hours of the charm lying in wait upon the person in question. As long as Potter didn’t pull some blunder that cancelled the spell, Tom would know exactly what he was up against when he next saw the boy.

That was another check list item out of the way. Finally, he could make his truly enjoyable plans. Tom’s skip returned to his step as he made his way down the hall.

"Ginny!"

Oh Merlin, what now?! For all Ginny had whined about being a lonely spinster, Tom couldn’t seem to stop being the center of some grand scheme of the universe to waste his time.

Tom sluggishly turned towards the one who had spoken that blasted name. It truly was an awful nickname to have to answer to.

It was Percy Weasley, in all his stuck up grandeur. Percy narrowed his eyes, and tilted his nose just so into the air so that he looked at Tom through the bottom of his glasses. In contrast to the rest of the Weasleys that Tom had had the displeasure to meet so far, he was the only one that truly seemed a pureblood, despite the hand me down robes he wore, mostly because the proud puffing of his chest screamed ‘pretentious’.

"What, Percy?"

Percy shifted his weight to his other foot. He looked to the side, exhaled a deep breath, then looked back at Tom. "We need to talk. About Very Important Things."

Tom blinked. That was ominous. It couldn't be that Percy had discovered him so quickly, could it? But- Percy was the smartest of the Weasleys, and by far the least mugglish. If any of them were to have realized that Tom was an imposter, it would surely be him. Tom braced himself, his hand reaching down to feel for Ginny’s wand.

Percy puffed out his chest even farther, and the mental image of a crowing rooster swooped into Tom’s head. "I won't let you blackmail me any longer,” Percy imperiously began, “our debt is settled! But now that this business is over, I've realized that I haven't done right by you. You're probably so confused about what you saw..." Percy sighed, and hunched like the weight of the world was on his bony shoulders. "I need to give you The Talk."

Tom froze.

Percy stepped closer, and placed his arm around Tom's shoulders. "I need you to understand that what you saw happening between me and Penelope in that closet was perfectly natural."

No.

"...en girls like boys- or, even when a boy likes a boy, or a girl likes a girl..."

_No_.

"...afety is key. And confidence! Don't do what I did. If you do date, it should be with no shame!"

NO.

Tom attempted to wrench himself from Percy's grip, but the know-it-all was surprisingly strong. Someone who had manhandled three younger brothers- especially Fred and George- would have to be. Tom reached blindly for Ginny’s wand, fear mounting as Percy continued to drone on. Only, the wand wasn't there.

"Looking for this?"

Ginny's wand was levelled directly in front of his face. He made a blind grab for it, but his efforts were futile.

"No, Ginny- not until you understand the ways your body is going to change."

"THIS IS NOT A CONVERSATION FOR AN OLDER BROTHER TO HAVE WITH HIS SISTER!"

"Of course it is! Mom told me to look out for you! As I was saying, secondary sex characteristics come during the-"

Tom screamed.

But fate didn't love him. That previous save had been a lull into a false sense of security. He should have known, considering his future self was killed by a one year old.

There was no salvation from Percy Weasley.


	4. Tom vs Evil Incarnate (Tom wins)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom attempts murder, leaves Hogwarts, and traumatizes a group of teenage girls.

The end of the school year brought with it no small amount of misery for Tom. After the conversation which would _never_ be mentioned again with Percy, he had enacted upon his truest desire…

Pushing Lockhart off the moving staircase.

Classic.

What wasn’t so classic was a staircase two levels below deciding to swing underneath the screaming man mid freefall, ensuring that while his back may have broken, his neck did not. The buffoon had managed to avoid death by the barest of margins. So much for the perfect murder weapon.

This- this was why the moving staircases were a problem. Not because they caused many a tardy to class, had caused Tom to trip again and again, or allowed so many damn Hufflepuffs to escape from Slytherin’s having a bit of fun (those little buggers always seemed able to tell when a staircase was about to move). They were a problem because they failed to allow perfectly good murders to happen.

You’d think the school itself would have banded with Tom in his plight to purge incompetence from its halls, but alas, grievous bodily harm to the numbskull would have to suffice.

At least Tom was safe from suspicion of attempted murder, since other than casting an unnoticeable charm, he had not used magic in any way to dispose of Lockhart. Testing at the scene of the crime would reveal nothing but a clumsy fall. Lockhart himself had received a fair bump on the head from a railing he had clipped on the way down, so Tom felt safe that the man wouldn’t be able to remember his own name, much less a light shove.

Good news was that Lockhart wouldn’t be teaching next year. Near death experiences were apparently as good as true death experiences in that regard.

Still. He had been _so close_.

A bit of extra consolation came in the form of Potter being the first upon the scene of the crime (the boy really _was_ a danger magnet). Still known as the Heir of Slytherin by many- mostly the Puffs- he had been treated with even more suspicious looks. Granted, quite a few of the upper years had apparently also congratulated Potter, especially those in their OWL and NEWT years who had to suffer through Lockhart’s incompetency at a worse time than anyone else; but it was another nail in the coffin for Potter that Tom was slowly building.

Yet the mood dipped again when Tom finally found the results of his diagnostics charm. Potter was apparently _coated_ in surveillance charms. The old codger of a headmaster was the one most likely to have placed those. Potter probably couldn’t so much as sneeze without Dumbledore later knowing about it.

That was the thing about surveillance charms. They were passive, so Tom could probably kill Potter before Dumbledore reached him. The problem would be that Dumbledore would know that it had been Tom, and then the whole charade would be blown out of the water, and he would be out of Hogwarts before he could say ‘magic’.

That had been a hard pill to swallow. Potter’s death would have to wait.

The week hadn’t gotten better after that. His exams had hit him in a rush, and while Tom was positive he did well on them, his results were likely not up to his previous standards. It had been _years_ since he last had to do first year spells and schoolwork, and they were actually difficult simply due to the fact that they were so, excruciatingly, _easy_. Dumbing himself down had been nearly impossible, and Tom had to settle for outright incorrect answers in a few spots, rather than draw suspicion of being an uncanny genius.

There were also a few hiccups where Ginny’s wand acted out, but repeated casting had given Tom a higher degree of confidence in his new tool. He hadn’t been able to cast any of his favourite dark spells with it yet though, despite his continued practice in the Room of Requirement. The wand refused to let out more than green sparks the times he had attempted Avada Kedevra, and in general, Ginny’s wand seemed to give him the cold shoulder when he used anything darker than a blasting hex.

It was absurd. Wands were pieces of wood with no feelings, so it should have worked exactly as Tom had wanted it to. The audacity of it all was quite aggravating.

The final nail in Tom’s own coffin was this. It was time to leave Hogwarts.

And now here, on the train ‘home’, his previously lonesome compartment had been invaded by the likes of true evil; demons in disguise…The sort that were capable of endless cruelty, vicious assaults, and poor fashion choices.

Bitchy teenage girls.

Tom internally shuddered.

“So, Gingy, all alone? I thought you would have been humping up Potter’s leg, you’re so obsessed with him,” makeup covered harpy number one said.

Cue disgusting titters.

Said harpy who had spoken, a Ravenclaw fourth year, conspiratorially whispered back to her Slytherin friends. “I wonder if little Weasley will even come back to Hogwarts- if I was her, I don’t think I would have lasted a year parading in rags and panting like a dog after a boy out of my league. It’s a shame when blood traitors don’t know their place.”

Who even were these girls? Tom toned out one of the minions follow up lines as he fully inspected their lot.

The Ravenclaw leader- Chop Cheng? No, not her… Anneless Pistin? It was something dumb like that. Regardless, she was a Ravenclaw pureblood, one who Ginny had nattered about in Tom’s diary as being particularly cruel. On her own, she never instigated any assaults, but surrounded by a few like-minded Slytherins, she was prepped for attack.

The lackeys were of no consequence. The Slytherin to Anne-something’s left was a fourth year, while two of the other Slytherins were third years from servant families to the Nott’s. The rest were second and first years, more spectators than anything. Then again, it could be that the older years were inducting them into the wonderful hierarchy of female anarchy. Most seemed gleeful about one of the Slytherin third year’s continued harping of Tom, but a lone girl hung back just outside the entrance of the compartment, her head tilted towards the ground. Tom had no idea who she was because of the honey blonde waves of hair she allowed to cover her face, but the green colour of her tie narrowed down her identity.

Probably just a spineless brat that had joined Slytherin only by virtue of her pure blood.

“…cosying up to the ‘Heir of Slytherin’- I bet you would do anything to let him ‘slytherin’ with you, hmm?” The Ravenclaw continued. She idly traced her wand in the air, a put upon air of sympathy doing little to mask the bite of her words and the malicious glee in her eyes. “All that catering to lowly muggles probably has you used to taking-”

Tom internally groaned, and lifted Ginny’s wand. Contrary to its previous disobedience, it practically hummed in his hand as he began to give it a clockwise turn. Perhaps even a stick of wood could understand the need to quell idiocy.

“_Puris malusque eruptio._”

The four leading older years at the head of the pack screamed as wart like lumps rippled into being across their skin. The younger years behind them were spared the effects of the spell, but they still screamed as well as they saw first-hand the large pustules swelling from Tom’s victims’ faces, and bulging beneath their clothes.

Tom gave a pointed flourish of Ginny’s wand and an internal command before he set it back inside the confines of his robe’s sleeve. He smirked. “Oh, I’m sorry- I just have no time for wastes of space that think I care what they have to say. I suggest you leave. Those protubences can only be fixed if fresh water is applied to them within the first five minutes, and your screaming has used up at least thirty seconds. It truly would be a shame if everyone saw your horrific faces when they left for the summer- if would leave a final image of you stricken into the student bodies’ minds.”

The Ravenclaw sneered. “You’re the waste of space, Weasley!” She lifted her wand alongside her younger companions, and Tom stared them down with amusement. “I don’t know where you learned that spell, but if you think we’ll let you start talking down to us-”

A pustule on her arm _exploded._

Tom, having already wordlessly cast a shield charm with his wand, was safe from the effects. The girls immediately around and in front of him were not so lucky.

The screams recommenced, and a stampede of feet signalled the rush of girls leaving to clean their robes. The older Ravenclaw stayed a moment longer than the others. She didn’t scream- she only stared at Tom with a gaping mouth. The sudden pulse of a pustule beneath her eye broke her out of her daze, and with a final, hateful sneer, she ran from the compartment.

Tom scoffed. _These_ were Ginny’s main bullies? How pitiful. If they were running towards the washrooms to wash off the gunk and warts, they were also idiots who got what they deserved for blindly following an enemy’s advice. The addition of water would only make the pustules swell, and the pus smell.

Tom gave a quick swipe of Ginny’s wand to erase the mess, and cozied back into his seat with a sigh. He would have preferred dealing with the girls in a more subtle manner, but he honestly was too worn away by the dreadful time he had spent so far as Ginny Weasley to bother with his usual type of subtle social smack downs. Besides, there was something more viscerally appealing about cursing someone than there was with using twisting insults on an enemy, especially because Tom was sure any good insults he could have used on this bunch would have lost their value to the idiocy of these girls’ inability to understand that he was insulting them.

It was truly difficult to deal with imbeciles.

At least as Ginevra Weasley he didn’t have to hold himself up to true pureblood standard at all times, and could afford to ‘slip up’ with fights like these. It was actually somewhat freeing. Still terrible, considering where he would be spending his summer… But yes. There were clearly a few perks to his new identity.

Tom raised his head to the compartment door, ready to finally slam and spell it shut, but a girl at the entrance caught him by surprise.

His interloper’s eyes widened. The young girl quickly dodged out of sight of his door, her tangle of honey blonde hair and pristine robes the only real glimpse that Tom caught of her.

Tom rolled his eyes, and with a wave of his wand closed the door.

Inept observers meant nothing to him.

Slowly, Tom lifted his knees upwards to tuck against his chest. He leaned his head against the glass of the window, and watched the hills and trees race by in a blur of green. The scenery had always seemed dimmer, less focused on the way back from Hogwarts the previous times he had taken this returning train. This journey home had always been the second worst part of his year, behind the summer itself.

But this time, Tom suddenly realized, he wouldn’t be going back to Wool’s orphanage.

He never had to go back there ever again.

**XXX**

Tom pushed through the screaming and crying crowd of children with a sigh.

“-miss you! Send me as many owls as you-”

“-so glad you’re here! Where’s dad? I have so much to tell-”

“-done! Seven years gone, my boys, and now ahead lies-”

The voices continued to blur. A particularly hasty Hufflepuff shoved past Tom, nearly tipping his second bag off of his luggage. Tom hissed, and wrenched at the handle he was dragging. Screaming savage children, just like the orphanage-

“GINNY!”

Tom lifted his head. A plump, middle aged woman frantically waved at him, a balding man at her side dopily smiling. They both had atrociously red hair.

_Weasleys._

Tom internally groaned. Outwardly, he trudged towards them, a small smile pasted on his face.

The woman clapped her hands together, the wrinkles lining her face crunching with her beaming smile. She reached forward and smoothed down Tom’s hair, and he barely supressed a sneer.

“Oh, look at you! I swear you’ve grown a foot! And your hair- why, you definitely need a good trim, dear, and my goodness, a good brush! You need to take better care of yourself Ginny, and-” the woman blathered on.

The man grinned, and lightly placed his hand on his idiotically rambling wife’s arm. “Honey, I’m sure Ginny doesn’t want to be coddled over in the middle of the station. Let’s hunt down the boys and head home.”

“Of course!” The woman lifted her hands to Tom’s cheeks and gave them a light pinch. She proved that wasn’t the worst she could do when she further leaned forwards to peck him on the cheek. Tom likened the wet mark her lips left to the clammy embrace of death. “You’ll have to tell us all about your first year once you’re home, for the traditional Weasley family tell all.” She beamed. “And this year, you get to share as well!”

Tom forced his lips to pinch into a smile. “Sure- mother.”

The agony of forcing the smile wasn’t even worth it- the fat ginger had whipped her head in the direction of obnoxious laughter, and in hardly a second, her face had gone beet red.

“FRED! GEORGE! YOU PUT DOWN THOSE TOILET SEATS _RIGHT NOW_ OR SO HELP ME-”

Said twins raced past their mother with a hoot, each with a toilet seat hoisted above their head, momentarily slowing to kiss their mother on either cheek. They expertly dodged when she attempted to swat at them.

“No can do, mum-”

“-justice for bruised butts must prevail!”

She shook her fist at their backs. “You never can stay out of trouble, can you?!”

But she was smiling.

The woman turned back towards the crowd with a light huff, cheeks still coloured a splotchy red. She gave a pat to Tom’s arm, a final smile, and then raced in the direction of the damned golden trio, who had an auspicious ring of space around them devoid of people. She didn’t seem to mind, as she swooped upon Potter and Pasty with hugs and kisses, along with a flurried greeting for the mudblood.

Tom’s stomach turned as she fussed over Ron’s ever-dirty face and Potter’s lopsided glasses. _Ridiculous woman_. Tom gave a brisk pat down of his robe’s himself, not needing the coddling that Potter seemed to preen beneath. Tom hoped Potter suffocated from Molly’s smothering attention.

A sudden weight descended around Tom’s shoulders. He tilted his head, and caught bespeckled blue eyes twinkling down towards him.

“It’s good to have you back, Ginny,” the man said. He lightly squeezed Tom’s shoulders with the arm he had slung across them, and gave a truly awkward smile. It was clear this man only had one daughter, and too many children in general for his meager parenting capabilities. Arthur tugged his arm away and strode towards Potter’s merry band of misfits.

Tom regarded the man, his stomach turning again. The discomfort was likely because of the blasted eye twinkle he possessed that was reminiscent of Dumbledore’s. Old people trying to act parental was always sickening. Grudgingly, Tom followed after the man, though he hung back ever so slightly at the edge of the family gathering.

Tom droned out the bland courtesies and goodbye’s that followed. He kept his distance and his head ducked down, treading close enough to the edge of the group to be present, but not close enough to be part of the group. Percy later joined as well, his self-centered voice triggering horrific recollections in Tom’s mind.

That boy would get his dues, mark Tom’s words…

None of the Weasley’s or extras were aware of Tom’s thoughts. They continued to natter and laugh amongst themselves, wasting time as the station drained of occupants.

It was satisfying to watch Potter cringe whenever one of the exiting students glared at him, though the Weasley brood-mare’s following natterings to distract from said glares ruined the true amount of pleasure that it would have brought. The little brat deserved it and more.

Tom carefully avoided Potter’s sudden glance. He was getting better at ignoring Dumbledore’s minion.

Finally- _finally-_ the merry band of misfits broke apart. The ginger hoard (which Tom was disgruntled to realize he was now a part of) was corralled towards a waiting car. Suitcases were messily shoved in the trunk and strapped to the top, and Tom was too slow on the uptake to understand that Ginny’s brothers’ mad dash for the car was not excitement, but necessity- as the last arriving, Tom had to sit on Molly Weasley’s mountain of a lap.

He told himself it was still too early for murder (beyond his first failed attempt on Lockhart), but the smug grins of the twins nearly made Tom reconsider his internal mandate.

Tom didn’t pay much attention after that. He ignored the occupants of the sardine-like packed car, and once again watched the scenery. It was an exercise in futility.

“Why did you prank me an’ Harry? You tossers made us laughing stocks for the rest of the year!”

“Ickle Ronniekins-”

“-you didn’t need us-”

“-to do that for you.”

Ron’s face cusped on the edge of transfiguring into a tomato. “_That’s-_”

“-Not the conversation topic of most import!” Percy finished. He leaned forwards from the back seat to slap at his mother’s shoulder, nearly catching Tom’s arm. Tom had been leaning forwards as much as he could, but the woman had a fair death grip on him. “Mother! I’m sorry it wasn’t addressed sooner, though as I was busy with my prefect duties I was indisposed-”

“-Funny how much prefect business you can get up to in an abandoned classroom-”

“But! I can tell you now.” Percy sighed, and casually slapped his hand across Ron’s mouth before he could interject as well. “Ginny has not had an easy first year at Hogwarts. I thought Ron could be entrusted to guide her-”

“Hrff!” came the garbled response from Ron beneath Percy’s hand.

“-But I was sorely mistaken. Do not worry- I completed my dues as her older brother towards the end, but I’m certain that she could stand for a talk with yourself as well.”

The arm around Tom’s waist tightened. “Oh dear,” the Weasley matriarch crooned. “I’m sorry that you had a hard time- did what Percy teach you help at all?”

Tom froze. Then, he turned around as best he could, and out of sight of Molly Weasley, grinned sickeningly at Percy. “Yes, mother,” Tom purred. “Percy taught me that it is acceptable to promote healthy relationships through methods I’ll likely attempt next year, like kissing, hand jobs and blow jobs-”

Tom’s head nailed into the dash as the car suddenly screeched to a halt.

It was _worth it._


	5. The Weasley House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom observes the Weasleys in their natural habitat, learns that the Golden Trio has face planted their noses into his business, and resolves to stay on track with his Evil Schemes.

The Burrow wasn’t what Tom expected.

It towered, leaned, and swayed on top of the modest hill, a contractor’s nightmare stacked on _another_ contractor’s nightmare. Each level seemed like it was a separate single room house that was thrown onto the building, each with its own siding and window scheme, no rhyme or reason to the design. An odd stream of purple steam expelled from a pipe near the roof, and the clothesline tied to one side of the house, with the other to a nearby tree, slowly moved itself, clothing hung upon it periodically drifting off to fold into a nearby basket.

A cobbled walkway led up to the bright orange door of the main ‘house’, and various knick knacks and lawn ornaments dotted its way. Stone ledges fit into the hillside, forming steps, and the grass was green and full- long, but not too unwieldly.

Tom stretched onto his toes to take in the rest of the property. Three sheds spotted the land, each with a beaten dirt path leading from it to the house. None were as… ‘interesting’ as the house itself, but none were in pristine condition either, if their chipped paint was any indication.

Behind the house, just visibly peeking over the hill, Tom could also see the beginning of blackened earth that likely lead to a garden on the far side. Random trees- oaks and apple and poplar, and so many others he couldn’t name, spotted the yard and beyond, and past the main yard the grass _did_ become unwieldy, swaying in the wind that pointed it towards the direction of a copse of dense trees.

There was even a _freaking stream._

“Time to unpack!” Molly Weasley commanded. Ginny’s brothers grinned, and while the twins and Ron ran towards the house with an exuberant cry, Percy hung back, likely because the ginger nightmare of a woman had a death grip on his arm. She dug her nails in, and turned to _smile_ at him. “Percy, dear, be a gem and help your mother take your brothers’ quidditch things to the supply shed?” Percy paled, and meekly nodded.

_Whipped,_ Tom thought, suddenly deliriously happy.

Arthur Weasley heaved Tom’s suitcase from its spot hitched to the top of the car, and smiled down at him. “Coming?” he asked.

Tom looked again at the unsightly, towering house, the woods likely infested with pests, and the disorganized yard, which on further inspection was dotted with dismantled muggle contraptions, a picnic table that was a breeze from falling apart, and a small pack of gnomes attempting to tackle Ron to the ground.

Ron swung at them with his suitcase, but one managed to jump up at his face, and Ron went down with a squawk. The twins laughed raucously as they watched from the door of the house.

…Disgusting. But, it would _have_ to do.

“Yes, father.”

**XXX**

The inside of the house was even more magical, even… Worse_._

Tom’s eyes darted back and forth, trying to take it all in. An enchanted clock; cooking equipment moving on its own; a fireplace marked with telltale green soot; and pictures- so very many, moving pictures, that grinned and smiled with more red heads than could be distinguished.

Everything, from the purely wizarding sneakoscope spinning on the kitchen counter (he’d have to dismantle that later) to the muggle pots and pans held a magical edge. A magical feel that Tom had never had the opportunity to see in a home before, having only ever lived in the orphanage or Hogwarts’ dorms.

Slightly overwhelmed, Tom made his way to the stairs. The second level was already occupied by the twins. They slammed their door at the sight of Tom, wild grins haunting his steps.

The second and a half level (because Tom was sure he had only gone up another five steps) belonged to Percy. The sibling in question wasn’t in the room, but the pristine fold of the sheets and the overwhelming number of books crowding the tiny room was clue enough. Another two steps up to what felt like the second and three quarters floor was Ron’s room. He was in it, at home among the overwhelming _orange _bed spreads, posters, and knick knacks galore.

Ron lifted his head from where he had flopped onto the bed, and shot him a dark look. It was hindered by the fact that he was currently holding a damp cloth to his bleeding nose that had been chomped on by an angry gnome.

Tom backed away. He continued up the steps, and once clear of Ron’s hearing, broke out into giggles. No- _snickers_. Giggles were, of course, for an eleven year old girl, not a sixteen year old boy masquerading as one.

A more respectable number of steps later, and Tom found it.

Ginny’s room.

Tom’s previous smile curdled away at the sight of some knock off rendition of Potter’s eyes staring at him from three horrifically life-size posters, along with a variety of broomstick riding individuals. That damned sport seemed to haunt Tom’s every step. The stuffed animals lining the shelves, along with the light, pastel blue of the bedspread, didn’t help his first impression either.

Tom dropped his suitcase to the side and rolled up his sleeves. He narrowed his eyes, and raised Ginny’s wand for inspection. He grinned.

The trace meant hardly anything in a wizard household, where any spells would be attributed to the parents.

Tom held Ginny’s wand aloft. He had a purge to begin.

**XXX**

Molly Weasley drugged her food. There was no other explanation for Tom’s actions.

“Holy shit, Gin, thirds is a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

“You leave off your sister, Ronald Bilius Weasley! She’s had a hard enough first year, she doesn’t need you questioning her healthy appetite!”

No matter. He would identify it for poisons… later. Tom took another bite of his turkey, and eyed the apple pie at the far end of the table hungrily. Much later.

He cleared his throat. “Could you please pass the apple pie, mother?”

Molly beamed, and lifted the pie off its hot plate. There was more than half of it left- plenty still.

Next to Molly at the end of the table, one of the twins- he really had to put some sort of tracking charm on them so he could figure out which was which- _grinned _at him. He plucked the dish from Molly’s hands (who simply rolled her eyes and leaned back in her seat with a long suffering sigh), and heaved a serving of the pie onto his plate. He looked across the table at his doppleganger. “Like some, Gred?”

“Absolutely, Forge!”

‘Forge’ heaped ‘Gred’ a serving of the pie. Still two thirds left. ‘Forge’ turned to Percy beside him. “Pie, brother dearest?”

Percy eyed the pie with distrust, then flickered his gaze back up to ‘Forge’s’ innocent expression. “If you tampered with it, George…”

Forge, revealed to be George (how the hell did Percy tell them apart?!) gasped. “I would never! It would be a disgrace to the pie!” Percy continued to frown. “…and mum would kill me.” Percy nodded at that, and without further ado scraped out a serving for himself.

George passed the pie off to what must be Fred, who grinned at Tom as well. He turned to Ron beside him.

“Pie, Mr. Human Garbage Can?”

“FRED!”

Fred didn’t even cringe under Molly’s sudden shout. He lifted the pie beckoningly before Ron.

Ron glanced beside him at Tom, then back at the pie. “Yeah, sure,” he said with a grin.

Fred, the absolute tosser, heaped an extra-large serving of pie onto his brother’s plate.

There was barely a piece left now. Tom resisted throwing his fork angrily at Fred’s face over something as inconsequential as pie.

“Fred…” he called, and gave a deliberate glance at the dwindling pan.

Fred gasped. “Of course!” he said. He turned back to George, who had someone managed to scarf down his slice in the time Fred had taken to be a complete and utter dick. “Seconds, Forge?”

“Absolutely, Gred!”

Like the nightmare he was, George watched Tom with grinning eyes as he ate the last slice of apple pie, straight from the pan. He didn’t even break eye contact while he licked the pan clean, the son of a bitch.

Not feeling very charitable, Tom stabbed his fork at Ron’s plate and heaped a large chunk of apple pie off it.

“Hey!”

Tom didn’t say anything back. He was too busy glaring down the twins… and chewing around the massive mouthful of delicious spiced apples and dough in his mouth.

He was learning. In the Weasley house, it was kill or be killed. Tom swallowed, and grinned. He wouldn’t be the one dying any time soon, that was for sure.

Ron elbowed him in the ribs.

“Ow!”

“You earned that! And you know what? I challenge you to a game of chess! Someone’s gotta wipe that cocky smirk off your face.”

Tom sneered. “Says the one who got a gnome attack to the face.”

Ron coloured, and instinctively lifted a hand to shield his bandaged nose from view. “Well, says the one who got The Talk from Percy!”

“Ohhhh, fight fight fight!” The twins chanted. Percy sunk deeper into his seat.

Molly only sighed, and went back to eating. Arthur had been reading his newspaper the entire time, and continued to do so without a care. Tom actually found it commendable that he was so good at tuning out Weasley chaos, but that might have just been desensitization that came with having seven children.

“You’re on then,” Tom hissed. A chess game. Pshh. Who did Ron think he was kidding! Tom was a genius, and Ron was an idiot. The math checked out, and it wouldn’t be Tom glubbering in defeat.

…Except it was.

“How…” Tom muttered. His gaze darted between the board on the floor of the small living room and Ron’s self-satisfied smile. “How?!” he exclaimed, and leaned forwards from his sitting position. “It was as if you knew what I would do three moves in advance! How did you cheat without me noticing?”

Ron smirked, and gave an overly fluid shrug of his shoulders. “Didn’t cheat- I guess it’s just talent, Gin. I can’t help being so-”

“Pigheaded?”

“Self-centered?”

The twins grinned, and leaned over either of Ron’s shoulders to poke at either of his reddening cheeks. “High and mighty?”

“You-!”

The twins whipped out large, terrifyingly lifelike spiders that were the size of dinner plates, and let them drop to the floor in front of Ron. They wrenched back from their younger brother with glee, only to pout as he only gave a muffled squeak.

“Awww, Ronniekins-”

“Where’re the abject screams of horror we know and love?”

Tom blandly watched Ron yell and shout about “dealing with worse spiders than they could ever dream of!” as he tried to lunge and pin down the grinning twins. Tom’s gaze drifted back to the chessboard. Ron’s white pieces cheekily waved at him while his own black pieces shook their heads and refused to make eye contact with him.

Tom’s gaze lifted back up, and he watched as the twins pinned Ron to give the boy the mother of all noogies.

“That’ll be enough, boys,” Arthur Weasley said as he stepped into the small living room. He sat down in a reclining dual love seat with his newspaper still in hand. He didn’t even spare the boys a look as they groaned, but Tom was surprised to see the twins disentangle from Ron, and the captive himself get up without lashing out.

Arthur looked in Tom’s direction. Upon meeting his gaze, the man smiled slightly and winked.

…Damned muggle lover, trying to make Tom an accomplice to his wannabe parenting act.

Molly Weasley stepped into the room, and trailing behind her was Percy, who carried a laden tray of cups. With care, she slowly handed out each of the steaming mugs to the occupants of the room, and Tom sipped at its contents (hot chocolate- the Weasley family wasn’t completely inept, it seemed) as he looked over the rim and observed the gingers’ in their natural habitat.

Molly scooched in beside Arthur on the loveseat. Ron bellyflopped onto the shag rug. The twins left the room, and returned with a large assortment of thick quilts that they piled onto the ground and proceeded to nest within. Percy wrenched one of the blankets out from under the twins, despite their exaggerate grumbles on him being a ‘thief’, and took his loot over to a high backed chair that he primly sat upon.

Tom himself had backed away from the offensive sight of the chess board, and was leaning against the brick next to the fireplace. He attempted to keep warm in the only inoffensive clothing Ginny had, which were some simple jeans and a black shirt. One of the sweaters inside Ginny’s closet might have been warmer, but there was no way he would be caught dead wearing a knitted monstrosity.

Through some unspoken command, the boys began to babble away as Molly and Arthur watched on with smiles. The twins laughed, sharing exaggerated stories…

“So Lee’s crouched in the corner, and George’s trying not to laugh-”

“Says you, you nearly broke cover when you kept shaking and almost knocked over the vials-”

“-but luckily he held it in- so Lee tipped the jug-”

“-into his cup, right beneath the bat’s beaky nose-”

“-and the next thing we know, Snape’s orange, George is releasing the weasels-”

“-and Fred’s tipping the cauldron on him. I’ve never seen a pack of weasels sick onto a man so _fast.”_

“…How do you have experience with weasels?” Ron asked.

The twins smiled. “Ickle Ronniekins-”

“Do you really want the answer to that dangerous question?”

Percy picked up the slack, extolling his accomplishments…

“I expect at least four outstandings this year- the rest will have to be exceeds expectations, as my prefect duties distracted me somewhat from attaining perfect grades-”

“I didn’t realize snogging Penelope Clearwater was one of your prefect duties…”

“Says the boy who _ogles_ the new Slytherin Keeper at any opportunity.”

“How did you!?-”

While Ron rambled on…

“Its super unfair, ain’it? So now most of the school thinks _Harry’s_ the bloody heir-”

“Harry the heir with the hair!”

“Shut it! There’s no way that’ll catch on. Anyways, _as I was saying, _everyone thinks Harry’s got it in for the Puff’s, ‘Mione’s going crazy looking up laws and stuff, and Hagrid’s in Azkaban to boot. But we’ve got a plan to sort that out, and you know Harry- he’s a bloodhound for snooping out school secrets. If anyone can crack the case on who really went around bloody petrifying people, it’ll be him.”

One of the twins lifted an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t call Harry a bloodhound. I’d say he seems to just trip into every possible conspiracy ‘cause he’s The Chosen One.”

“That danger magnet has some rotten luck,” the other twin agreed.

“Don’t talk about Harry like that!” Molly interjected. “The poor boy has been through enough.” Not nearly enough, if you asked Tom. Sure, his parents may have been murdered, but Tom didn’t really have sympathy for a kid who at least got fame and glory and a filled bank out of it. The brat didn’t even have to suffer life in an orphanage.

Percy narrowed his eyes at Ron. “This seems highly dangerous, Ron- wouldn’t it be better to focus on your studies? I’m sure Dumbledore will sort it out,” Percy said, his hands clenching around his steaming cup.

“Says the prat that preached to an eleven year old that blow jobs are the solution to making friends.”

“RONALD!”

It was strange to watch. The family seemed completely at odds at first glance, with the twins troublemaking, Percy’s whining, Ron’s tendency to cram his foot in his mouth (along with an obscene amount of food) and the overbearing shadow of Molly Weasley. But clearly that wasn’t the case. Tom could see, beyond the bickering occurring even now, that they were rooted together by blood, and connected to each other inextricably.

The blood traitors were blinded by their pathetic ‘love’ from all else.

Tom sipped at his hot chocolate. This… awful house reminded him of the orphanage in many ways. It was filled to the brim with idiotic, unruly children that would clearly always be up in Tom’s business if the dinner table fiasco was any indication. It was a poor place. The chair Molly and Arthur snuggled upon like lovesick fools was worn and a harsh sitting away from collapsing on itself.

And worst of all, it wasn’t Hogwarts, Tom’s _real_ home. This hovel, ‘the Burrow’, as they called it, barely counted as a place to live in.

Tom sipped from his cup again to take a break from his thoughts, and nearly swooned at the sweet flavour of what was likely homemade hot chocolate.

At least the food was good.

…When it wasn’t drugged, which was _obviously_ the reason why he had been driven to eat three helpings. Tom ignored that he was probably going to be dreaming about that turkey tonight. How the hell had Molly done that with her meager budget?! Was she a house elf in disguise?

“Ginny, how was your first year?”

Tom’s head wrenched upwards at the sudden call, caught completely off guard. It had seemed safe to simply observe. The blood traitor clan was so good at conversing amongst themselves, and Tom was but an observer, an interloper in their home waiting for the time to strike. For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to him that he too would be included in the family conversation, as he had been easily ignored at the train station.

…Strange. And_ awful_, obviously. Regardless, Tom just had to blabber till they tired themselves of the ‘unloved, extra Weasley’ (Ginny’s words!). Now. To present a dainty, innocent little girl. It would be a breeze.

Tom smiled, and met the beseeching eyes of the fools that thought they were his parents. He wondered if they’d look at him like _this_, so _lovingly_, if they knew that he had murdered their daughter.

Tom’s smile became even more genuine at the thought.

“Ah, please call me Ginevra- I’m not a little kid anymore, mother! I had a quiet first year at Hogwarts. I enjoyed my classes, and though it was quite scary, what with the petrifications, I still found Hogwarts to be an amazing place.”

Arthur nodded. “Yes, it was a bad business, that, just like Ron was saying. I heard they did end up sending a team of aurors in to investigate, but they didn’t find anything. I’m glad you still enjoyed your first year though...hm, how about ‘Gin’, dear?”

Tom wasn’t given the opportunity to shoot down the slightly more palatable nickname. Potter’s Pasty sidekick struck in the conversation’s pause, proving he was Golden Trio worthy through his obnoxious snooping ability.

“They sent aurors in?” Ron exclaimed.

So much for giving Tom the floor to speak at this stupid Weasley Family Share Circle. Tom leaned back against the brick of the fireplace, and returned once more to his role of observer.

Ron scrambled up from his stomach to a sitting position, and bit his lip as his fingers dug into the shag of the carpet. “I didn’t even know… And, they didn’t find, y’know… The Chamber of Secrets?”

“Ron, you know that’s just a fabrication,” Molly chided. “If it existed, someone surely would have found it in the hundreds of years since Hogwarts was built. There have been many great, _amazing _wizards that have passed through Hogwarts halls, and I like to think that one of those incredible individuals would have discovered it while they attended school.”

Well, one _had,_ so she wasn’t wrong. Tom felt inordinately proud at that.

“Like Dumbledore!” Molly continued.

_Bitch, _Tom thought, and repressed a frown.

Ron shook his head “But, maybe you have to be, I dunno, a _parselmouth_ to find it- it could be in an _easy to access location_, and it just needs _a couple words _ in another language, say, _parseltongue, _which opens a secret tunnel- or, uh, door… y’know? Just saying.”

“Ronniekins,” one of the twins quietly said, “if that were the case-”

“Then it would be open and shut for the only person at Hogwarts known to speak parseltongue,” the other finished.

Ron swallowed, then nodded.

Percy shook his head. “Regardless of who it actually was, I do find the entire situation a terrible breach of justice. Hermione Granger was telling me all about it; she’s designed a petition and everything. They just _threw_ Hagrid in Azkaban, while they process proceedings. Who knows when his trial will actually happen? There must be a precedent for situations like this. The law is the law, especially for the government. Rules _must _be followed.”

Molly and Arthur exchanged an uneasy glance. “There is a precedent, created during the war for times of crisis,” Arthur said. “If a majority opinion in the Wizengamot can be found, and processed by a respectable judge, then a trial isn’t needed.”

Ron froze. He whipped his head up to his father. “No trial?! That’s ridiculous! Hermione was searching them up, and she found out the Wizengamot’s mostly run by old cucks from old families. You can’t tell me that there’s people in Azkaban who were just thrown in there on their say so!”

Molly shifted. “Sirius Black,” she whispered.

“…And others,” Arthur added. “Annalise Nott, Christopher Shunpike, and Torrence Lovegood, to name a few. Their cases were shown beyond a reasonable doubt to have an obvious outcome, so to speed up proceedings in the wake of the numerous trials of the war, the ‘easy’ cases like theirs were waved through. On the other hand, people like Lucius Malfoy submitted themselves to veritaserum under claims of imperius, and skipped the trial process that way.”

Ron stared at them with wide eyes. “That’s bloody terrifying, is what that is. But anyways, what kind of ‘reasonable’ bloody reason do they have for throwing Hagrid behind bars?! This isn’t the bloody war- it’s not like they’re pressed for time.”

Molly swallowed. “I believe it had something to do with a previous infraction…” (Ron shifted uncomfortably at that) “along with… with who his mother is. But that’s not for you to worry yourself over, Ron. I’m sure Dumbledore will get Hagrid out, if he really is innocent.”

“He is!”

“Of course, of course… But like Fred said- if Hagrid is taken out of the limelight so suddenly, the authorities will still want a culprit. The next most plausible one. I’m sure Dumbledore, and Hagrid, know that. So please, _please _be careful, for yours and Harry’s sake.”

Tom considered that. It was somewhat flawed logic. Sure, Harry, as the only known living speaker of parseltongue, could be ‘charged’, but there was no way the government would actually be able to put the god damn ‘savior’ of the wizarding world behind bars.

The more likely reason that Dumbledore hadn’t interceded on Hagrid’s behalf was that he himself was on thin ice. Dumbledore had only just managed to keep his job. It wouldn’t work to instantly point fingers at the ministry that had just let him go. Dumbledork, though Tom was pained to admit it, was smarter than that. He would likely bide his time before attempting to go against the ministry again, if at all.

It didn’t help that Dumbledore had already stood up for Hagrid in the past. He wouldn’t be getting a second saving grace.

Honestly, there was no way that Hagrid was getting out of Azkaban. The wizarding world, while not near as ethnically racist or sexist like the muggle world, had its own very real prejudices. And they were Money and Blood. The creatures, muggle bred filth, poor and family-less were doomed unless they embraced the status quo, and hid their shame from the eyes of the world.

That was how Tom had survived Slytherin before.

But the Weasley’s were too much of Gryffindor stock to ever clue into the obvious laws of the jungle. A half giant was worthless to the larger machinations of wizarding society. This entire conversation was redundant, because as Tom had discovered before any of them had even been born, the world did not favour the downtrodden. It just kept stepping on you, till you rose up and stepped on it…

Tom didn’t really care about any of that though. What mattered was what he had gleaned from their talk.

Potter and his merry band of misfits had discovered the chamber.

It was a miracle that they hadn’t blabbed about it, but they probably were too stupid to figure out a way to use their newfound information. At least they wouldn’t be finding the basilisk. It had taken Tom _months_ to find its hibernation spot the first go around, and Tom had spelled off that tunnel with enough notice-me-nots to induce a seizure or blindness.

Best to not go down there anymore, though, if Potter and co. would be snooping around. What a shame, though; the chamber used to one of Tom’s favourite study spots. Damn Potter…

“…Okay mom,” Ron said, jerking Tom back to the conversation. Ron leaned back to flop on the rug again.

The atmosphere had taken a drastic turn. The fire crackled in the silence of the small living room, and despite not really caring about any of the people in the room, even Tom was dragged down a little by the mood. He sipped again at his hot chocolate, but its fading warmth did little to help.

The Burrow felt too somber. It might be a building a breeze from collapsing, filled with too many gingers, but it had life to it- a sense of character. Even after spending less than twenty four hours in its domain, Tom knew that this wasn’t the feeling it should give, and that was because its occupants were being depressive. At least when everyone was loud and stupid, the Burrow didn’t feel as much like Wool’s orphanage.

Almost like she had been reading his thoughts, Molly suddenly clapped her hands, cutting through the silence. “Enough of that!” She said. She turned to Tom, and weakly smiled. “Again dear, I’m glad to hear you had a good first year, regardless of the poor circumstances. I’m sure next year will be less dangerous, and more enjoyable by far.” She turned her head to look at the other occupants of the room. “Well then- off to bed! It may be summer now, but I won’t have you staying up till morning.”

Grudgingly, Ginny’s brothers lifted themselves from their seats. Ron was particularly quiet, but another quick noogie from the twins soon had him yelling again as he chased them up the stairs. “NO ROUGHHOUSING!” Molly called up.

Tom left his seat by the fire place, and wiped off the green soot that stained the edge of his jeans. He handed his cup off to Percy, who was collecting the others as well on the tray he had used to bring them in.

Upon pestering from Molly, Tom headed off to get ready for bed. Proving his mettle, he managed to squeeze into the crowded bathroom to brush and floss his teeth without getting beaned in the face by the twins’ overly acted out teeth cleaning (you certainly didn’t need to _thrust your hips_ every time you pulled your floss back and forth. Tom had dodged, but one of them had managed to nail Percy in the side with an enthusiastic elbow).Then, he went off and changed into his pyjamas. He was almost free… But was summoned again by demands from the ginger broodmare, and forced to sit before her in the living room so that she could attack Tom’s hair with a brush.

“It’s such a lovely red, dear,” Molly said, and with a soothing hand stroked through Tom’s hair with the brush as easily as a fish through water. “But you need to take better care of it. A good brush in the morning, and a good brush in the evening. A little bit every day and it’ll shine.”

Which was easier said than done. Tom had been tempted to take a severing charm to the mop upon his head, but he hadn’t wanted to call attention to himself by changing his appearance. He didn’t know how she made it seem so easy; it hardly even felt like she was tugging at his scalp.

“Done,” Molly said. She leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to the top of Tom’s head. “Good night, dear.”

Tom escaped her clutches as soon as he could after that. It was nauseating to be in close quarters to Molly’s overbearing presence.

Before he embraced the clutches of sleep, Tom thought on the long turn this day had taken. It would be harder than he had thought, living with the Weasleys. He hadn’t had a split second to breath so far without being surrounded by, as he now dubbed them, ‘The Hoard’, much less flesh out the plans he knew he needed.

But Tom had time. Time enough that he could continue to settle into his role, and worry later about just how he was going to find out what had happened that Halloween night all those years ago; find a way to aid his other self (who Tom refused to believe had truly _died)_; kill Harry Potter; and, ultimately, take over wizarding Britain and all it contained, with a single school in particular- a single _job_ in particular...

He had time. 

_Day one, complete_, Tom thought to himself, and turned on his side. He closed his eyes. Only another couple months of this to go until he could return home.


	6. Grand Theft Tom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom fits in better with the Weasleys than he would ever admit, almost ruins everything, and somehow finds the silver lining.

Surviving the Weasleys became a routine.

It was always an early start to the day. If the broodmare didn’t scream at Tom to get up, then Ron falling out of bed, ominous explosions from the twin’s room, or Percy peeking his head in to pompously demand that he help prepare breakfast did. Getting up from bed was always a chore, and the day continued in that trend.

First, breakfast.

“NO THROWING EGGS AT THE DINNER TABLE!”

“Sorry, mom-”

“They’re just attracted to Ron’s face-”

“SO PUT DOWN YOUR SPOONS!”

Second, getting ready.

“It’s my turn to use the bathroom!”

“Ronald, as your elder brother, it is my right to wash my face first-”

“-You sometimes take a half hour prissing yourself up, Percy! Just let me in!”

“I’ll let you in when you take a handle of your own education- so never, and- wait. Did Gin just go into the bathroom and lock us both out?”

“Conniving little- LET US IN GIN, or I’ll tell Harry ‘bout how you were apparently putting together some scrapbook newspaper collage thing about ‘The Boy Who Lived’ at the end of the year-”

“Piss off!”

Third, chores.

“Who needs eight god damn rows of peas…”

“What was that Gin? You want to weed the peas yourself?”

“No, that is not-”

“So generous our little sister is! Good luck Gin, and watch out for the Hungarian Recluse Caterpil- argh! Did you just…”

“…Throw mushed up caterpillars at us?”

“This means war!”

“No- NOT IN MY HAIR!”

“How’s the garden coming dea- MY GARDEN! Fred, George, Ginny-”

“Ginevra!”

“Fine, Gin then- to the house! If you can’t weed without trying to shove dirt down each others’ throats, then you can peel potatoes instead!”

Fourth, with variation- daily ‘funtimes’.

“I am not playing chess again until I know how you are cheating.”

“Come on Gin, it’s talent! And I’m sure you can up the score to one against seventeen if you tried.”

“I would rather help Percy with his _flashcards_.”

“Thanks, Gin!”

“…Shit.”

Fifth, supper.

“Hey dad!” “Hey dad!” “Hello father!” “Hey dad!” “Hello dear!”

“…Hello father.”

“Looking delicious, Molly,” Arthur said with a wink (oh _God,_ a double entendre), “and look what I picked up on my way home today. A ticket for the galleon draw- gotta support it even if we won’t win- but more importantly, this!”

“…What is it, dear?”

“It’s a Muggle device called a ‘Walking Man’- it summons music to your ears! I think you have to walk for the finicky ‘eleckicity’ to work though…”

“_Muggle garbage…”_

“What was that Gin?”

“Mm, can I have seconds?”

And finally- the only time that Tom found peace- sleep.

Beneath the covers of his new bed, Tom stared up at the plain, boring ceiling. It was not the green banisters of his dorm room, nor the midnight sky of the great hall. It was a cramped room, filled with the remaining material possessions of a dead child.

It wasn’t his home.

Tom turned on his side, and slowly allowed the grip of sleep to claim him. He would need to be rested to continue to survive, and eventually destroy, the Weasleys.

But fate hated Tom. Just as he was getting used to the routine of the Weasley home, everything changed.

**XXX**

Tom was enjoying his hard earned supper when reality flipped on its head again.

He had been tired from another long day of this tragic summer with The Hoard, especially because he had been roped into refereeing for the twins’ and Ron’s ‘quidditch’ game earlier. Which was less gameplay and more them attempting to concuss Ron to be honest.

That boy had a frighteningly thick skull.

Tom had managed to beg off halfway through by leaving to help Percy ‘study’, which was just as awful as the other times he had been roped into it, but still better than watching sweaty boys throw balls at each other.

Percy, however, was anal enough about neat notes and exact memorizations that Tom became disinterested in the subject matter, which he didn’t even think was possible in regards to anything magical. Percy really was as dry and boring as they came, a rule following, ultimate teacher’s pet…

That, actually, was what really ruined Tom’s day. Listening to Percy obsessively go over the same definitions, again, and again, _and again,_ while using Tom as a mute sound board, made him wonder at his own behaviour at Hogwarts back when he was still, well, Tom, in the 1940’s. Had _he _ever been this annoying with his education?

It was horrifying to contemplate.

The day did get a little better once Percy decided to just read his books, and unearthed all of Bill and Charlie’s old ones. Percy, ever the study buddy, hadn’t questioned Tom’s decision to read the higher material in his company, and they had actually achieved a modicum of peace, reading in silence out on the deck, eating primly cut sandwiches and too sour lemonade that Percy had prepared.

It was really soothing, reading about blasting hexes and charms to make a person dance until their feet bled- very educational, like Percy kept blathering on about, and certainly _useful…_

Still though. Another awful day, to continue the awful summer.

Supper, as usual, was Tom’s salvation. A discrete check with Ginny’s wand at the start of the summer (Molly was a bloodhound for sniffing out wand use, and Tom had actually seen her give the twins the shout down of their lives that actually had them cringing over the explosion marks they had left in their room. Tom had been _very_ careful and scarce with wand use after that) revealed that Molly’s food was, shockingly, _not drugged._

It would have to remain a mystery. A delicious one, but a mystery none the less.

Thus, it was while eating a cheese and herb stuffed chicken that probably would have driven other chickens to commit acts of cannibalism that the bomb dropped. As was usual, Arthur Weasley stepped through the front door to be greeted with a laden table and hellos from his family. What wasn’t usual was his, quite frankly, pants-shitting terror inducing grin.

“WEASLEYS!” he exclaimed, and swooped in towards the dining table like an ADHD bat. “WHAT HAVE YOU ALWAYS WANTED?”

Percy blinked, but being such a follower of authority figures, didn’t question his father’s strange behavior. “Well, new books to start- along with a new bookcase, the Headboy position, a job at the Ministry, a riveting future in law leading up to become the Minister of Magic, a wife and two kids-”

“ANYONE ELSE!” Arthur exclaimed, completely cutting off Percy who grumbled about Middle Child Struggles. Tom wasn’t feeling very charitable. Did Percy have to adapt to the body of a pubescent girl, live with a despicable, enormous family that literally lived in _the Burrow _(nice rabbit pun Weasleys, real nice) or have to put his plans of murdering the boy who lived and attaining glory for their other incarnation Voldemort on hold? No. So what did he have to complain about? _Absolutely nothing. _

Ron picked up the torch. “Well, I dunno, maybe a new wand?”

“FANTASTIC!” Arthur responded, somehow still maintaining his exuberance. “FRED, GEORGE, GIN, MOLLY?”

“Being allowed to use our wands in the house-”

“HAHAHAHA!-”

“Okay, okay- um,” the twins exchanged a glance and grinned. “Potions kits!” they exclaimed at the same time.

Tom rolled his eyes discretely, and turned to the rabid man that was his ‘father’. “Well, spending money for Knoc- Diagon Alley, I suppose.”

Arthur turned to Molly and smiled encouragingly. The woman’s cheeks turned an unattractive shade of red, and she _giggled._ “Oh, alright- I suppose… seeing Bill and Charlie again. It’s been so long since I’ve seen all my children together…”

Ron groaned. “Ah, mom, now you make the rest of us seem like heartless dementors…”

Molly rolled her eyes, and the twins fake groaned to highlight Ron’s point. Even Percy gave a slightly more dramatic than usual sigh.

Arthur nodded his head. “Nice guilt trip, Molly- though ALL GOOD IDEAS! NOW!” Finally, Arthur’s voice tapered off as he leaned forwards to put his hands against the laden dinner table. “What if I told you that we just won the Ministry Galleon Draw, and you can have all those things?”

For a moment, it was silent.

Just a single, _blissful_, moment.

“HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT-”

“That’s wonderful father!”

“Weasley Wizard Wheezes, Here We Come! Weasley Wizard Wheezes, HERE WE COME!”

“Splendid, dear! Oh! OH! We have to go to Egypt, it will be wonderful!”

Tom observed the chaos with a bland expression, and continued to eat his cannibal worthy chicken. “Yay,” he said. 

**XXX**

The next three days were chaos.

Shoes flew down the steps (literally), an assortment of cups were spontaneously turned into roosters, and Tom woke up glued to the ceiling on day two.

How these all somehow tied together with the anarchy of the family attempting to pack, he hadn’t a clue. All he knew was that the orphanage staff from Wool’s were wrong. Tom wasn’t Satan incarnate._ Ginger’s_ were.

…Though, Tom supposed he did have red hair now. He gave a harsh tug with the brush as he faced the mirror with displeasure, unable to make it glide through his locks like Molly had. Did she charm the brush? Was there some innate feminine skill required to not rip off your scalp when brushing ridiculously long hair that Tom was unaware of? WHAT WAS THE SECRET?

…Ahem. Not that Tom was having troubles, obviously.

Anyways, packing had been a nightmare, but it was apparently nothing compared to the legalities required to ship the Weasleys through international customs. Egypt had the right of it. Close your borders when the soulless heathens knocked. It was too bad that the oldest Weasley was on the other side of the border to pave the way.

Hence, despite Tom abhorring the idea of leaving Britain, the Weasley family (which, Tom shuddered to think, did include him) would be off to Egypt on the morrow, by way of three portkeys that would likely have to be shared with twenty other travelers at a time. Winning the lottery didn’t mean the Weasleys were rich, unlike what Ron’s hubris in the wand he got yesterday would lead the masses to believe.

Tom finished yanking the brush through the right half of his hair, and smirked at his reflection. A little force fixed any problem, even if it left his head feeling numb. He smoothed the flyaways of his scalp, and readjusted the straps of his tank top, which Tom was loathe to see exposed his shoulders.

To stay cool, or to burn. Such was the fate of this pasty body, though luckily Tom hadn’t so much as reddened skin yet. Key word being _yet._

Tom spun on his heel, and descended the steps of the Burrow three at a time. Molly was stress baking to stock up on snacks for the road. A homemade treacle tart sounded divine, especially because Tom had an immense craving for sweets. It must have been a side effect of his new body.

The kitchen, however, contained more than just Molly. Tom wondered what interloper could possibly dare to intrude upon the holy place where heaven was created in the form of food, and narrowed his eyes upon the dumply woman in question that had plopped herself on a chair in the middle of Molly’s workspace. Molly herself dodged around the obstructive woman and the abundance of packed bags and food, to and fro, waving her hand absentmindedly every minute or so to adjust the rate at which the pots were stirring.

Tom narrowed his eyes at the sight. It couldn’t be wandless magic- that was much too advanced for a housewife- but it was odd that Molly could cast with her wand likely holstered to the inside of her forearm, tucked beneath her long, billowy robes.

It bore further investigation, which Tom chastised himself for not noticing was needed till now. In his defence, he tried to keep away from the kitchen outside of the occasional snack snatching. He hadn’t liked the menial task of cleaning pots when he was in the orphanage, and he certainly had no intention of getting roped into continuing such tasks now during his second chance at life.

The dumply stranger, who was clad in an unsightly yellow dress that made her look like a walking and talking lemon, spoke up, interrupting Tom’s further thoughts. He stayed out of sight around the corner and observed the following exchange.

“It really is _so _exciting, Molly dear,” the fat witch said, and smiled much too large. “Why, I read it in the paper this morning, and could hardly believe it! I had to stop by and hear for myself. They said it was over a hundred galleons, but _surely_ it couldn’t have been that much…”

Molly hummed, and momentarily turned in the stranger’s direction with a smile that Tom was surprised to see was fixed coldly in place. He had never seen such a look on the red haired woman’s face. “Well, after taxes, less, but still a fair amount.”

“How much _exactly?” _The nagging woman asked, and leaned her elbow against the counter. Her brown eyes narrowed within the confines of their obnoxiously large frames. “Merlin, I’m sure it would almost be _too much_ for one person! A burden shared is a burden halved, darling. Money changes people, so I think it’d be best if you watched how you use it. Family, my dear, should always be the top priority when wealth such as this is attained.”

Molly froze. She took in a heavy breath, then turned once more with gritted teeth towards the woman still nattering about ‘equal sharing’ and ‘helping those in need’. “Aunt Tessie,” she slowly began, “there’s no need to worry- this money_ is_ staying in the family. It’s for _my children._ The young deserve the chance to enjoy life, and not worry about financials.”

Tessie snorted. “A lack of money builds character, darling. Why do you think I never gave your mother that loan? She had children, and I knew that the struggles of life would make you three into upstanding citizens.” Tessie sighed. “Shame about your brothers, but I’m certain it was lack of support financially that made them so _determined_ and _strong, _ and able to give that last fight a decent shot before they kicked the bucket. It’s the old and weak that really need the help of money, darling. Old bones need to be kept warm when the young have the fires of youth to keep them going.”

Molly’s eye twitched. The ladle in her hand gave a slight jerk, and she didn’t seem to notice the oven to her left beginning to smoke.

“_My children_,” Molly hissed, “will be given all the love and support they could ever need, rather than us hold back so they can have “_character”_. My husband and I’s money will _always_ be theirs first, so that they can succeed in life.”

Tessie blinked. “But, _surely_ they don’t need help to succeed. They’re doing so _well_ already! Bill’s a cursebreaker in Egypt, Charlie’s off with dragons, Percy’s a shoe in for the ministry, the twins are too ambitious to ever fail, and little Ginny’s special, being the first Weasely girl in, why… What is it, some nonsense like three hundred years? I highly doubt they need your concern.”

“You forgot Ronald, Aunt Tessie.”

“Who?”

Molly’s mouth pinched dangerously close to something Tom had never seen before. He had seen her angry, frustrated, confused- all usually the result of the twins- but this… This was something different.

Molly’s eyes flashed, and Tom resisted taking a step back. Why should he be so offset by some fat housewife that had never amounted to using her wand for anything other than stirring pots? She didn’t curse people- she never hit her children- and the worst she ever did was nag.

For all that Molly was a witch, and already outclassing any muggle as a threat, Tom had never felt worried for his safety in her presence. He didn’t have to showcase that nothing hurt, make it evident that he was powerful and terrible and untouchable like back in Wool’s orphanage in the tender loving care of his fellow orphans and ‘kindly’ (sadistic) matrons. Molly was harmless compared to those muggles.

Tom swallowed. His gaze locked on Molly’s clenched fist, and a strange shift in the air- was that Molly’s magic? Acted like a pressing weight.

…Absolutely harmless.

“This conversation is _over._ Stop circling my family like a vulture waiting for scraps of flesh. I’ve had it with your digging!”

Tessie gasped. “I never!-”

“Helped? Showed decency? Gave a bloody hell for your own family unless there was something in it for you? Well, _too bad._ The money’s not for you, when you’ve never spared a knut in our direction!”

…_Well. _Tom thought. He took a careful step back around the corner, and flinc- _darted out of sight- _as Molly’s voice rose to a deadly pitch. Darling great aunt Theresa Prewett, the sodding fool, could deal with the wrath of the ginger broodmare alone.

He didn’t really _need_ a treacle tart right now anyways, and that still smoking oven meant that they’d probably be burnt beyond Molly’s usual standard anyways. This was a tactical retreat.

Tom took another careful step backwards, aware that a misstep could land him in the limelight if he struck a squeaky board, only to bump into a solid body.

Tom strangled the startled wheeze that dared to escape his lips. Luckily, the continued screaming match of Molly and Tessie proved that he had managed to remain quiet enough. Tom spun on his heel, and was gratified to see Ron spitting out a strand of Tom’s red hair that had whipped into his mouth. Served him right for sneaking around!

Though, now that Tom thought about it, the fool had possibly also been on the prowl for food. Ron was slovenly when it came to table manners, but he did have the right of it. Molly’s cooking was the stuff of legends.

Ron went to open his mouth, but Tom furiously jerking his head in the direction of the kitchen stopped him in his tracks. Ron’s lips tightened, but he resolutely nodded. He gestured in the direction of the back door. A smart plan. Best to get out of the house in case Tessie tried to track down another Weasley in the house to support her arguments, as Tom’s hazy recollection of some of Ginny’s diary rants had told him was a semi-common occurrence whenever the family gained any financial footing.

Together, they sneaked away. Ron levered the door open with the care of a master spy, letting Tom escape first before trailing after. Tom took a step along the path to the quidditch shed, but Ron clamped a hand on his shoulder. The pasty boy held up two fingers, then sliced them across his throat.

…The twins? Probably.

Ron jerked his head in the direction of the nearby woods, and though not pleased to be led by the moron, Tom found himself complying. He could put worms in Ron’s bed later and blame it on the twins for the audacity of the boy to assume the leading role.

Soon enough, they were tucked away from sight of the house, and though it disgusted Tom to have to duck and weave beneath tree branches, scraping his arms and scuffing his pants with dirt in the process, he supposed it was a better fate then getting dragged into Prewett nonsense in the house.

Once they had trekked a ways into the scrawny forest, Ron planted himself on a large rock, and idly watched a small stream trickle over the rocks. Glints of colorful light within the water hinted that the stream might even contain _faeries,_ but Ron didn’t seem to care about that. He picked up a handful of rocks, and threw them in the water one by one, scattering the creatures that might have lurked beneath the surface, a stony expression planted across his face.

“What has you twisting your face into that ghastly grimace?” Tom asked, and he sat upon the same rock beside Ron. Tom smirked. “If you are not careful, it will stick like that- you will not be able to inhale food like usual with your lips pinched so tightly.” Insults were good. That’s what Weasleys did to check in on one another. Not that Tom really cared about Ron, but he preferred a moronic older brother to some brooding wannabe teenager.

Ron didn’t respond. He flicked another rock into the stream with increased force, and Tom rolled his eyes.

_Childish, _he thought. And Ron had actually been beginning to have some degree of appeal. He had both the uncanny ability to guess when there’d be dessert, along with figure eight times out of ten whether the twins were up to something. Case in point, the shed they had dodged. Add that to his idiot savant abilities in chess, and he might have made a good minion. But now he had to go and ruin it by acting his thirteen years of age. What a waste.

“…She forgot me,” Ron finally said.

Well, wasn’t _that_ informative. Tom hummed, and flopped against the rock to let the sun leaking through the trees warm him, eyes firmly closed and only listening with half an ear. Against his will, his right eye peaked slightly open, taking in Ron’s hunched shoulders.

“Not just her,” Ron continued, “all of the aunts and uncles and cousins do, every time they visit. There’s always _so much _ for them to say ‘bout Bill or Charlie’s jobs, Percy’s smarts, the twins ‘cleverness’- morons don’t have to bloody well deal with all their pranks though, right?! And they even go off ‘bout your bloody gender like not having a dick is some kind of accomplishment!” Ron panted, and from where Tom’s leg was pressed against the boy’s leg, he could feel it vibrating, up and down in a spastic manner.

Actually, excuse you Ron. Not having a dick sort of _was _an accomplishment. Possession rituals were difficult!

Tom internally sneered. Not like he’d ever reveal that, though. He glanced back at Ron’s trembling profile.

“Sometimes, it’s like I don’t even _exist,” _Ron hissed, still caught up in his dumb tyrade. “A sixth son that’s not smart or funny ‘nough, and not even the youngest one to get _some_ kind of claim. I just…” Ron’s head dropped into his hands, his elbows propped on his knees. “I just wish _I_ was the one getting noticed, y’know?” he whispered.

“…Stupid,” Tom said.

Ron whipped his head from his hands to stare at Tom, who continued to sun himself, arms crossed behind his head and right eye hurriedly closed again. Ron’s face was probably beet red, Tom thought, though he didn’t open his eyes to confirm his suspicions. He didn’t care to see it for himself.

“S-stupid?!” A sudden pinch to Tom’s thigh wrenched Tom to sit up and open his eyes, hands instinctively slapping Ron’s away. The redheaded boy thrust his face into Tom’s field of view, his cheeks and eyes red. “Says the one that’s got it easy! What’s the worst _you _ever had to deal with- missing out on Harry stalking time cause you couldn’t get a brush through your hair?!”

Tom narrowed his eyes. He shoved a hand against Ron’s chest, viciously satisfied when the boy nearly toppled off the rock. “Yes- you are definitely _stupid,_ childish, and dumb; and that is all you will ever be. Out of all of the nonsense they were arguing about, you cared about what that walking lemon _didn’t say_? Not the money, or the insults… but just that she didn’t try to butter up Molly using you?” Tom sneered. “Who _cares_ what some fat old lady thinks? If you care that much ‘bout unimportant old people’s opinions, then you _deserve_ to be overlooked.”

The words tripped out before Tom could think them over. For some reason, they left a sour taste behind.

Ron gave an equally hard shove against Tom shoulder, and he nearly tumbled off the rock. He grabbed Ron’s shirt to restore his balance, and met Ron’s gaze as the boy raised his hand and pointed it in Tom’s face. “Tosser!” he hissed. “It’s not just the old people, is it? It’s everybody! I’m just some sidekick, and it bloody sucks! How’d you think it feels to be on the edge of everything at school and at home? Huh?! I don’t blame Harry, but he’s _always_ the bloody center o’ it, and ‘Mione’s smart, and you’ve all got something that makes you stand out! And, and- it sucks, okay? It sucks! To feel like you don’t belong, when you really, really want to be noticed!”

_The edge of everything-Feel like you don’t belong- Want to be noticed- _

STOP. Tom didn’t need to think about this, he didn’t care, _he didn’t care-_

_Stupid Tom! Why would we want to play with you? You’re _weird. _Just leave us alone._

STOP-

_-you just don’t_ fit_. Sorry lad, I’m sure you’ll be adopted by another family-_

_-not tolerated at Hogwarts-_

_-You _are_ a pureblood, aren’t you? Or are you a damned muggle lover-_

-_can’t stay for the summer, but I’m sure you’ll be happy at home-_

_-halfbloods, mudbloods, none of them _fit._ You agree Tom, don’t you? They should all be cut out of society like the rot they are-_

_-Better be Slytherin! Where you’ll belong-_

STOP.

Tom lifted his eyes to the bratty boy with blood so pure he could have the world if he was smart enough to take it. The boy who claimed to not belong in the family that joked with him, surrounded him, encouraged and appreciated him. A boy who had the power to survive in a world filled with glorious, wonderful _magic_, had the most important advantages that Tom always wanted- and squandered them.

“No wonder no one notices you, Ron,” Tom purred, and used the hand still clutching Ron’s shirt to pull himself closer to spit his words right in the imbeciles face. “You are just the spare boy. Harry Potter’s tag along. Can you really blame people for never bothering to look down at the idiot licking other people’s shoes-”

“SHUT UP!” Ron screamed. Before Tom could react, Ron was tackling him off the rock.

A punch- dodge the fist, then swing with his own-

-FUCK the jackass pulled his hair-

-rolling, hands snapping against each other, head whipping to the side with a SLAP-

“You think you’re the one that doesn’t belong!?”

-A vicious pinch to the side- Tom swung his leg around Ron’s, sending him crashing to the ground-

“Well guess what! You’re the perfect god-damn family!”

-A tree root dug against his back, a sudden roll accelerating down the hill-

-kicking, knock a shin out of the way to tumble into the stream-

“Because guess what? If anyone doesn’t belong, IT’S ME!”

-Water splashing into his face-

-arm wrenched, knees dropping harshly to the ground, other arm swinging up to wrench at short red hair-

“You’re all always _joking _and _smiling,_ and I’m just along for the ride-”

-a halfhearted tug on his shirt-

-his hands trembling where they held a slackening wrist-

“-cause, cause I’m not your sister! A wannabe Weasley in a s-stupid house with so much stupid magic and enough food you’re never hungry-”

-an arm wrapping around his shoulder-

-shudders, a hand catching through tangled red as it attempted to comb its way through-

“-so just, just STOP. N-no one cares, unless you fit the mold, and you do- so w-what do you have to, to complain about, _huh?_ Absolutely _nothing.”_

Gentle arms rocked Tom back and forth, carrying him through the shuddering shakes that assaulted his body for no reason. He was fine, and he really didn’t care- the boy was just aggravating, and idiotic, and-

_Oh god Tom had blown his cover._

Tom froze. Carefully- so _very_ carefully- he raised his head up towards the head pressed against his own.

Bright blue eyes met his gaze, then quickly darted away. Ron’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then quickly closed it.

An awkward silence descended. Tom’s eyes darted about as he took in the results of their fight. They were sitting on the ground, half drenched with twigs knotting into their hair and dirt scuffing their bodies. Ron’s lip was split and lazily dripping blood, while Tom’s right eye felt tender and numb, and staring out of it felt like he was squinting. They’d really done a number on each other, but none of that compared to Tom’s blabbing mouth.

_What had he been thinking!? _Tom hadn’t meant to say all of that. Tom never said things unless he had perfectly calculated them, always the polite and smart pureblood, snaking his way into the minds and loyalties of the rich and influential ever since he was eleven years old and learned he wouldn’t _fit_ if he didn’t-

Oh. But that wasn’t the part he had been playing.

Ginevra Weasley said what she meant, and got in fights and screaming matches with her brothers. And that was an act, it was, but Tom had played it too well. A little too much of the Gin he pretended to be had lead him to loose lips that could sink the biggest ship of them all.

Tom’s eyes darted up again to Ron’s. He swallowed.

Ron looked back down at Tom. Unlike the first time, when he had been unable to muster a word, he seemed more resolute. He squared his shoulders like he was preparing to be stabbed, and adjusted his hold on Tom so that he simply had his hands on Tom’s shoulders instead of an almost hugging grip. Tom tensed as he opened his mouth.

“…Gin.” Ron whispered. “You- uh. Shit. _Shit._ You, belong, okay? Merlin, don’t ever think you don’t. And. Bloody _hell_, this is hard- you’re right. I was just being stupid, and, and I shouldn’t be complaining about having awesome siblings or awesome friends, _especially _the friends bit, when your, uh, first year went like it did.” Ron shook his head, and he bit at his split lip. “I’m sorry, okay? So, so _please_ don’t cry.”

…What? He couldn’t be- Tom lifted a shaking hand up to wipe at his eyes, only to encounter salty tracks trailing across his cheeks as his eyes continued to water.

Oh.

Ron heaved a breath, then closed in for the kill. His arms wrapped around Tom again into a bruising hug, and Tom’s arms uselessly dangled at his sides, his hands digging into the dirt as the moment stretched, uncomfortable and warm.

Finally, Ron let go. Thankfully. Because he was sweaty, and bloody, and gross, and-

“Shit!” Tom hissed. “What are we going to tell mother?”

Ron froze. He met Tom’s frantic gaze with one of his own.

Simultaneously, they pat down their clothes, standing as they frantically scraped away twigs and dirt. Ron stretched out his arms and held himself in front of Tom for inspection. “Anything?” he asked with wide eyes.

Tom slapped away a few stubborn twigs clinging to Ron’s hair, then stood before him with his own outreached arms. Ron performed the favour in kind, furiously wiping away the dirt and mud that stretched across Tom’s tank top.

They stood silent before each other, then together, their shoulders slumped.

“Nowhere near good’ nough,” Ron said. He bit his now swollen lip, then threw up his hands and groaned. “We need a bit of magic, is what we need!”

Tom’s eyes widened. Slowly, Ron’s lowered to meet his gaze. A smile split across the redheaded boy’s face. “That’s it!” he exclaimed. “I know how to clean our robes- that’s gotta be worth something. We just have to knick my wand from under mom’s nose…”

“Or just mine,” Tom added. “I can heal these cuts no problem, and clean as well.”

Ron raised a brow, but luckily didn’t question Tom’s skill. The smile on his face widened. “Then let’s go steal our wands! Man, this feels like it does when I’m sneaking round with Harry and ‘Mione- what a rush!”

Without further ado, Ron shot a thumbs up at Tom and turned on his heel to race down the path they came from. The abrupt whiplash from the somber crying fest that Tom couldn’t explain the origin of if he tried was disorientating, but running through the bush allowed Tom to leave thoughts he’d rather not contemplate behind. Tom quickly followed, and after a branch whipped across his face in his hurry, stinging his swollen eye, he wiped a hand across his face- his fingers catching on the smile he hadn’t realized was there.

He didn’t’ have time to process the realization. Tom had to break to a halt next to Ron, who was crouched in the bushes at the edge of the copse of trees and peeking out at the towering house. Tom leaned in beside him. “Mother keeps the wands in her room, and she’s in the kitchen- why are you-”

“Shhh!” Ron hissed. He pointed at the Burrow, and though he was tempted to kick the boy, Tom quieted and crouched beside Ron, gaze intent on their target.

“-HAVE ENOUGH CHINA! WHY, YOU CAN’T SPEND RESPONSIBLY! I CAN’T OVERSTATE-”

“-BUT APPARENTLY YOU CAN OVERSTAY! THIS IS JUST LIKE WHEN YOU TRIED TO STEAL FABIAN’S INHERITANCE-”

“See?” Ron whispered. “they’re still at it- and look at Mom and Dad’s window-” A flash of light came from said pane of glass on the first floor, and Tom internally groaned. “Aunt Tessie’s snooping through Mom’s room, probably messing with her china. You know mom. She won’t admit it, but she likes yelling at Aunt Tessi. Heard her tell dad its ‘therapeutic’, so she’s not gonna kick her out anytime soon even though she’s a pain. And I’d rather clean up sooner than later.”

Great. Just great. Tom’s pants were coated with mud and blood, Molly was having a tantrum, and with their luck, Percy, the prat, would find them before Aunt Tessie left and they could get a wand from Molly and Arthur’s bedroom. That jackass had the habit of showing up whenever he wasn’t wanted, which was always.

Ron’s eyes suddenly narrowed. “Though…”

“What?!”

“Shhh! I was gonna say, there may be a way.” Ron’s eyes focused on something in the distance, and Tom followed his gaze. There- a hundred yards from the house.

The quidditch shed.

The same one that the twins had apparently pranked to hell and back.

Ron turned to Tom and grinned. “If that’s not the perfect distraction, I don’t know what is.”

Tom’s heartrate kicked up a notch, and this time, he could feel the smile emerging on his face. “Let’s do this,” he said.

It happened quickly after that. Ron broke off along the tree line to the edge closest to the shed, while Tom snuck to the edge closest to the Burrow’s backdoor. Then, he had to wait. He kept his eyes peeled for Ron, but the boy was surprisingly sneaky. It was after nearly five minutes of listening to the surprisingly informative screaming match (who would have known that Molly could curse in both Romanian and Arabic, and make puns about beating relatives with cooking implements on the fly?) that Ron finally struck.

The redhead darted out from what appeared to be the garden, something struggling in his arms. He raced to the shed, and wrenched the door open. Without further ado, he hurled the thing within his arms- was that the gnome that had bit his face at the start of summer?- inside, and hit the ground like he was preparing for an explosion.

Which was actually quite smart, considering the shed proceeded to _explode._

Half formed fireworks threw the roof off the building, misshapen dragons and what appeared to be sparklers wrenching into the sky, sometimes sputtering out, but other times _popping, _nearly throwing Tom off his feet with the immensity of light and sound that they produced.

The yells within the Burrow abruptly ceased. Molly raced out the main door of the house just in time to see the shed _catch fire._

“FRED! GEORGE!”

Tom didn’t wait to see what the woman did next as Molly’s dumply aunt gaped at the fire and fireworks beside her, or check to see if Ron had managed to scramble out of the way. Tom, at speeds greater than he had ever gone before, booked it across the lawn. He nearly crashed against the back door, but managed to slow himself just in time to only lurch against it. He fumbled with the lock on the first try, then burst through it on the second. Like an obsessive stalker was on his heels (that psychotic Ravenclaw _still _gave Tom nightmares) Tom raced for Molly’s room.

Once inside, he hardly took a moment to take in the ransacked shelves and knocked over laundry baskets (_thanks_ Aunt Tessie) and immediately tackled the cabinets beside the bed. First drawer, books. Second, that damn ‘walking man’, lazily sparking as its wiring conflicted with the magic of the house. Third, a squeeze bottle and pair of-

Tom slammed that drawer shut, face pale. Made sense, a distant part of him supposed, considering the Weasley matriarch and patriarch had seven children when magicals as a whole had greater difficulties producing children then muggles.

They _worked at it,_ and Tom would leave that horrifying thought there, left behind to die in the recesses of his mind where he had crammed The Talk with Percy and, farther back, The Talk at the orphanage.

Tom shook his head. He opened the final drawer with shaking fingers, to reveal…

…Nothing?!

No, no- Tom felt around the bottom, his hand disappearing to the elbow. Tom had found Ginny’s wand in this cabinet on day one more than a month ago, and the twins had found their wands last week-

Oh. _Shit._ If the twins had found them, then there was no doubt that Molly had upped security. It was common sense when those hellions were involved.

Tom concentrated, reaching out with his magic. This had once been so easy, when he was ten and without a wand. He had maintained his wandless magic since attaining a wand, but there was a difference between improving his capabilities when he lacked the crutch of a wand and simply holding his previous skills steady because progress was so much faster when you just caved in and used a magic stick. It was doubly hindered by the fact that the magic of his new body still resisted him at turns. But he had to get rid of whatever hiding spell this was.

He was Tom Marvolo Riddle, Heir of Slytherin, future (past?) Dark Lord, and DADA teacher in the making. He would succeed!

Almost…

The front door of the house slammed open.

_Almost…_

Thumping footsteps entered.

_So close…_

“I don’t remember leaving the door open…”

THERE!

Tom wrenched away the concealment charm. Lacking time to fumble through the sticks of wood, he desperately summoned his wand to his hand.

Theresa Prewett entered the room.

Wood met Tom’s grasp.

“Brattish children, with those fireworks… If it’s their futures to be worried about, then there’s not much to be done. No amount of money can save fools from incompetence and hooliganism.” Tessie sighed, her gaze thankfully lifted upwards. “Best that I remove the china at least before those brats can destroy it. I’d be doing Molly a service!”

Tom’s wand spun in his grasp, a half circle that dropped into a straight line. He help his breath, desperate to stay silent, hoping that the notice-me-knot had taken hold despite the fact that the last time he had attempted the charm in his new body, it had taken a minute to work. Tessie’s brown eyes tracked towards him…

…And glossed over.

“Hmpf. She never sees reason, that Molly,” she said. Theresa lifted her wand from her sleeve, her thick, pudgy fingers surprisingly dextrous as they twirled the stick of green hued wood. “Can’t even be bothered to help her poor aunt out! Money really does change people…”

Tom watched with narrowed eyes as the woman wordlessly summoned the china to lift from the cabinet in the corner that contained it, and the floor where she had apparently already taken and laid some out. She hummed as she worked, heedless of the peeling paint, the old floorboards, and the well-used sewing kit in the corner. She just continued to take. And take. And take.

Tom’s eyes darted to the open doorway, then back to Tessie. He took steps that felt surprisingly heavy towards his escape, and against his will glanced back at the back of the large woman stowing Molly’s carefully arranged crockery and china into a gaping satchel, items which had been some of the only delicate and fine things in the room.

No. He didn’t care!

Tessie hummed, and swirled her wand towards the fine comb that rested on Molly’s nightstand.

He really didn’t!

“Oh! I didn’t know Molly had Celestina Warbeck’s latest album! I really wanted to buy that, but they sold out!”

…Then again, the overgrown lemon had lumped him in with the other brats. She had it coming.

Tom’s wand was moving before he could stop himself. A diagonal slash, followed by a three quarter turn. Tessie froze in her tracks, her spells also freezing as this improved imobulus charm was capable of doing. The Celestina Warbeck Album hung suspended in the air amidst the china. Molly could sort this out herself. It wasn’t Tom’s business.

He quickly hurried out the door before he could think further on the long ago times in the orphanage when his own belongings had been the prizes of other greedy children unless he stole from them in turn.

After all. He didn’t care.

Not at all.

**XXX**

“Nice, Gin!”

Tom flicked his matted hair out of his face (he still needed to learn those damn hair charms!) and smirked at Ron, who was now clean and bloody-lip free.

“Yes, yes, I’m amazing.”

Ron rolled his eyes, but his lips quirking upwards betrayed him. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get full of yourself.”

“Says the guy whose peacock routine sometimes puts Percy to shame.”

“Says the girl that doesn’t even know how to brush her hair.”

“YOU!-”

The boy laughed, and leaned back against the side of the house. Tom huffed, but didn’t harp upon him anymore. “Anyways,” Ron continued, “were basically good. Mum won’t think it’s weird to see you with a rat’s nest on your head-”

“You lay off my hair Ronald Bilius Weasley-”

“So we’re all set.” Ron crossed his hands behind his head. He grinned up at the sky. “Good last day before we head to Egypt, huh? Been missing excitin’ stuff like this, cause all I’ve really gotten ta bloody do this summer is play some quidditch, whoop your ass at chess-”

“HEY!”

“-and read _law books._ Plus, I gotta huck that dumb gnome into Fred and George’s trap. If that’s not great, I don’t know what is.”

Tom spun his wand- Ginny’s wand?- _his wand- _between his fingers, and next to Ron, leaned against the house. “Yeah. A good day.”

Ron hummed. “Hey, Gin?”

“Hm?”

“…How’d you know those healing charms?”

The wand spinning between Tom’s fingers abruptly stopped.

Ron glanced over, and his lips flattened. “I’m not a really good brother, am I? If you needed to know somethin’ like that.”

“…”

Ron’s shoulders hunched, and he slowly exhaled. “I heard some stuff, y’know? ‘Bout dumb girl problems, while I was in school, but I also got some letters recently. ‘Mione mentioned hearing something happening to you on the train ride home, when we were chatting ‘bout Hagrid in our compartment, none the wiser. I didn’t even know you’d been in any kinda trouble... I didn’t think it had gotten that bad. You always were good at biting people that were mean to you, so I thought you’d be fine,” he said, and gestured at a scar on his left hand for emphasis.

“So, uh. I guess that’s why you snapped, huh?” Ron’s foot scuffed against the ground. “Just… shit. You, uh, want me to step in? Or something? Or, is this, like, weird girl shit, or-”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Don’t hurt yourself trying to wrap your little head around it. It’s handled.”

“Handled?”

“Yep. _Handled._ What’s-her-name- ‘Anneless Piston’, and her wannabe gang won’t be a problem anymore.”

“…Anneless… Shit, Annalise Pierson? _That_ stuck up bitch? Nice work, Gin!”

Ron raised his hand towards Tom. Tom stared at it for a moment. His gaze met Ron’s, and he felt something he hadn’t realized was wound tight within himself loosen. His hand reached forwards to slap against Ron’s.

“Thanks,” Tom said, and his lips gave a faint twitch upwards.

They continued to stand in silence, looking out at the backyard and garden of the Weasley home. It was odd, to be looking at it now. Tom would be off to Egypt, then only back here momentarily before he was off to Hogwarts. It was still an awful place, obviously. But it wasn’t Wool’s.

Tom glanced over at Ron.

It was even a little bit alright, he thought.

Distantly, Tom was aware of Molly Weasley screaming around the other side of the house, which seemed to be her constant state of being.

“YOU BOYS ARE LUCKY NO ONE WAS HURT- WHAT IF YOUR BROTHER HAD WALKED IN TO GRAB HIS BROOM FOR A LAST RIDE BEFORE WE LEFT TOMORROW?”

“That was actually-”

“-our whole plan.”

“BOYS! SO HELP ME-oh, hello dear!”

“Hey dad!”

“Hello Weasleys!”

“Would you check on the oven darling? I left some of your favourite cookies- oatmeal raisin- in, but… My Aunt Tessie is here, and you know how it is when she visits…”

“SHIT!”

Tom nearly toppled forward at the sudden swear from the usually mild-mannered Arthur Weasley. Who knew he had it in him?

Together, Ron and Tom peeked around the corner of the house to watch as Arthur Weasley raced up the path to the house like the hounds of hell were on his heels. Tom gave him points for being in decent shape, but docked him because Arthur was an idiot who liked muggles. There wasn’t any redemption from that.

A couple of tense moments after Arthur entered the house, Tom’s previous actions yielded wonderful consequences.

“HOW DARE YOU TRY TO STEAL FROM MY WIFE! Good job immobilizing her, Molly!”

Ron looked down at Tom with wide eyes, who attempted his most innocent of expressions, the epitome of his hard earned ass kissing that had served him so well in pureblood society as Tom Riddle.

Ron snorted, and smiled. He raised his hand to rub his knuckles threateningly over Tom’s head.

Tom raised his wand. “I warn you, I’m armed, so don’t think you can get away with a noogie to _my _hea- hey!” Ron snatched Tom’s wand before he could respond, and descended with his knuckles to Tom’s poor abused scalp.

“Stahhhhhppppp-”

“That’s my sister!” Ron crowed.

In response, Tom wrenched his head away to tackle Ron. Two could play at that game.

“Not the face not the face!-”

“ARE YOU TWO ROUGHOUSING?!”

“…Shit.” Ron and Tom simultaneously said, Tom’s hand pinning Ron’s head to ground while Ron had a clump of dirt a handspan away from crashing into Tom shirt.

“IS ANYONE IN THIS FAMILY WELL BEHAVED?” Molly demanded, and muttering to herself, hauled Ron and Tom up by the backs of their shirts.

From his window on the second and a half floor of the house, Percy leaned outside to call down to Molly, “I am!”

“Suck up!” Ron and Tom simultaneously called back, and still within Molly’s clutches, shared a smile. Ron tucked Tom’s wand out of sight with a wink, and despite the punishment he knew was coming, Tom couldn’t stop a grin from sneaking its way onto his face.

This summer hadn’t been too shabby.


	7. Egypt (FINALLY)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom goes to Egypt, and lsldkjf ajasds why is this person so hot?? AKA: Tom really is a twelve year old girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild chapter appears!
> 
> *Cue Pokemon battle music*
> 
> Though seriously- sorry for the long wait. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, kudos'ed, and bookmarked this story. I hope it continues to be enjoyable :)

Ron squinted. “You know, I was expecting a lot, but I don’t know if it ever really processed that this whole trip would just be sand, sand, and more sand.”

One of the twins nodded, took off their right shoe, then turned it upside down. A small stream of said sand trailed out, seemingly infinite. “Yeah,” he grumbled, “and that’s not the worst of it. I’ve got sand all the way up my-”

“Say hello to your brothers!” Molly interrupted. Tom wrenched his gaze from the seemingly endless dunes, turning to take in the older Weasleys that he had heard so much about.

They had only just arrived in Egypt, by way of a sock that Tom was sure belonged to someone with troll-foot fungus. The smell, added to it being the third and final portkey of their trip (the first taking them to London, the second to some nameless north African town, and the last here) compiled to leave Tom nearly hurling. Nearly. As none of the other Weasleys had caved, he had refused to show weakness.

He didn’t appreciate the bile forced back down his throat one bit, though.

And here was the apparent ‘payoff’. They had landed near the wizarding settlement that Bill was based out of, and Charlie had apparently arrived a few hours earlier. Molly had instantly swooped towards them like some sort of deranged homing pigeon, while Tom and his ‘brothers’ took in their new environment and Arthur flashed their visas to the authorities.

Though, as always, Molly had ruined the relative tranquility of the bright blue sky and majestic rolling sand by making introductions for people that Ginny was already related to. That woman really felt the need to always be in control.

Tom took in Ginny’s oldest brothers with a critical eye, from where they stood on either side of Molly.

Scar-face looked like a misplaced older copy of the twins, though one that looked like his muscles had muscles. He awkwardly smiled, stretching the burns that snaked around his mouth and neck. Molly had an arm slung around his shoulder, as he was short and stocky enough that the woman was able to keep him in her deadly clutches. Must be the dragon tamer, Charlie.

Probably not a very good one if he couldn’t dodge a little fire, what with all the scars.

Molly’s other arm held onto the final Weasley in a futile attempt to clutch at him as well, because where Charlie was short, Bill was…

Tom blinked. His eyes widened as he took in Ginny’s oldest sibling.

Bill Weasley was tall, and muscled. The red hair that Tom usually loved to degrade hung loose past the man’s shoulders, a deeper red like Tom’s was. His skin was ever so faintly tanned, and the climate appropriate loose shirt he wore dipped low, allowing Tom to clearly see the necklace of teeth that lined his throat, just above a very toned chest.

Bill raised his gaze from his dumply mother, who barely was able to hold a hand against the back of his neck. He met Tom’s gaze and _smiled._

“Hey guys,” Bill said, voice steady and low, almost melodic really, it was like he was singing-

“Ginny?”

Tom wrenched his gaze up to meet Bill’s deep blue gaze, from where he had been entranced by thin pink lips moving- God no! He meant, distracted, er, by… Something that wasn’t a ginger’s sexual appeal. God.

Being a pubescent girl was _the worst._

“Hhhhhhulllo Bill,” Tom managed. Bill rolled his eyes, and broke free from Molly who had begun to cluck her tongue and pull at his long hair. He languidly stepped towards Tom.

“Hey, little sister, got your head back from the clouds?” Bill dropped a hand to ruffle Tom’s hair, ruining his for once orderly locks. Bill turned his head to take in his other brother’s, and Tom’s gaze locked on black stud embedded in the flesh of his ear. How could I man this _cool_ be the progeny of the muggle lover and Molly??

“Hey, Perce- Fred, George.”

“By rights Bill-”

“_I’m_ George-”

“-and I’m Fred! Been so long that he can’t tell his own brother’s apart Gred-”

“-By rights indeed, Forge, a terrible travesty.”

Bill rolled his eyes, and Charlie, having escaped Molly as well, came up beside Ron. The dragon tamer smirked at the twins. “You guys aren’t _that_ similar. Do you really expect your family to forget the differences between you?”

‘Fred’ (George?) rolled his eyes. “Mum does.”

Ron snorted, finally rejoining the conversation. “Yeah, but she sometimes mixes up even me and Percy. It’s just a mum thing.”

“And she makes up for the mistakes with delicious pie, Forge o’ mine. She can have some slack.”

Forge (definitely George!) only sighed.

Bill laughed, and slung a toned arm over Tom’s shoulders. Tom carefully forced himself not to stiffen, and maintained his gaze towards the other side of the Weasley cluster that had formed.

“So,” Bill said, and gave a light tap on Tom’s arm. Tom flickered his gaze up to meet laughing blue eyes. “Who’s ready to crack open some sarcophagi, dune surf, and attempt to tan?”

Tom suddenly remembered the true horror that he should have prepared for. The sun, which had felt surprisingly pleasant before, now seemed like an omen of death. He discretely glanced down at his pasty, freckled arm, and swallowed.

“Tanning!” Molly exclaimed, and lunged into the conversation like the well trained power mom that she was. “We all know how _that _goes.” The other Weasleys chuckled at the inside joke (likely the result of an overly pasty family that had a relationship with the sun akin to what a vampire would have.)

Arthur walked over with a carry-on bag slung over his shoulder, and a devious grin spread over his face. Tom realized with horror that it was identical to those the twins sported in their most evil moments. “Yes dear. We wouldn’t want a repeat of our honeymoon in the Mediterranean.”

Molly groaned, and gently pushed at Arthur’s arm. She then heaved her purse off her shoulder onto the ground. She rummaged for a moment, her arm disappearing against the laws of physics till it was at the shoulder in the small bag (magic really was amazing), and returned with a miniscule bottle that fizzed an unpleasant grey colour.

That… That was a draught of _Sun Deceiver,_ a sun block so powerful it could be used by vampires to temporarily brave the sun. It had probably cost Molly through the nose for that!

Tom’s shoulders sagged with relief. He should have known. Molly Weasley was many things, but a go with the flow mother she was not. Her purse was likely filled with bandages, fire extinguishing ruins, and emergency potions of all kinds (the result of raising Fred and George). He should have known that she would remember something as basic as sun protection!

Surprisingly, Molly heaved out a heavy dollop of the potion on her hand, and used it on herself first. It made Tom leery, to see how easily she squandered the potion that was now three quarters full- there were eight other red heads here!- but she must have even more stowed away in her bag then.

Tom glanced over at the remaining Weasleys who didn’t seem to be near as interested in the life saving qualities of the sun protection potion as Tom. They clearly trusted it would save them though. Ron and Percy both had their shoulders exposed, everyone was wearing shorts, Bill hadn’t even bothered with a hat, and the twins were shirtless. All that pale, freckled skin on view… Well. Most people likely mistook the Weasley family for a horrific mirage, honestly.

“Done!” Molly exclaimed. She lifted the grey bottle- and put it back into her bag.

…WHAT.

“Uh, mother,” Tom asked. “Shouldn’t _we_ use some of that as well? To stop from, you know, _burning to a crisp?”_

Molly had the audacity to snort. “No need to make fun of your mother for not being a Weasley by blood, dear. We all know the genetics from your father’s side are the envy of red heads everywhere.”

Again. _What?_

Fred and George swooped in on either side of Tom, bumping Bill out of the way and swinging their arms around either of his shoulders. With their free hands, they reached up to roughly ruffle Tom’s hair. “Fire born, we are!”

“While most people think we just breed like rabbits-”

“-The Weasley family’s real talent lies-”

“-in taunting the sun with our pasty white skin!”

That sounded like complete bullshit, especially coming from the twins. But out of the corner of his eye, Tom could see _Percy_ nodding along, dignified in his superiority over the power of the sun.

It sounded made up. But then again- magic. If Tom could talk to snakes, who was to say the Weasley’s couldn’t be ‘Fire born’?

Tom carefully crossed out the possible plan to kill Arthur with a discrete bluebell charm to blow up his damned muggle electronics he was always playing with. The other thirty three options (and counting!) for murder of the various Weasleys would have to suffice.

“Well, Weasleys?” Bill asked, grin splitting his face. “Who’s ready for Egypt?”

Tom rolled his eyes at the wave of cheers, and broke free from the wedge of the twins to walk alongside Ron.

Maybe he could try and start early on his murder plans and lock Percy in a tomb?

Tom smiled. It was going to be a good trip.

**XXX**

As typical of the Weasleys, they managed to enact clown worthy shenanigans by managing to all cram into Bill’s small shack of a house. It wasn’t too bad though. Tom got away with spelling Percy to the ceiling after he elbowed Tom in the night from their shared space on the floor for the _third time_ (Tom’s patience had truly increased during his stay with the Weasleys) and no one had punished him for it. Ron had even given him a discrete high five.

Living arrangements worked out, the Weasley matriarch and patriarch taking Bill’s bed while the children took the floor, couch, and ceiling, all that was left was to enjoy the trip.

Said trip was planned for two weeks, and by God, the Weasleys were keen to spend every moment of it doing _something. _Probably in the efforts to get their money’s worth, which Tom could somewhat respect.

Riding the dunes using magical skids was _not _Tom’s forte (thank you _very much_ Fred and George for laughing every time his skid veered off so that he face planted into a dune). Though, thanks to a well-timed gust (Tom’s wandless magic was starting to get a bit better), Ron crashed into the twins in a beautiful slice, and Tom managed to win the race to the nearby oasis at least once.

The tombs were infinitely more interesting. While Molly seemed keen to keep a death grip on Tom, Bill was a Godsend. He conveniently would distract Molly with funny stories, like the time his co-worker was brutally dismembered by a ruin that triggered a rain of flying spears, which made Molly more prone to fretting over him and his life threatening job. It gave ample opportunity for Tom to race off with Ron, Charlie, and the twins by turns.

He and Ron were on similar pages at times, especially when Ron was keen to investigate the secret passages. One had almost resulted in acid getting sprayed in their faces if Tom had not thrown up a hasty shield with his wand that he had pilfered from home, though Molly confiscated it again after that incident, the bitch. All in all though, good times.

…Why didn’t he just use the shield charm on himself, though? It would have been a convenient way to dispose of one of the Weasleys…

Well. He still had to beat Ron at chess, and the boy made a good minion, as he had proven capable of keeping a secret. The twins hadn’t made fun of him for ‘crying like a little girl’ from their scuffle near the stream, after all.

Regardless, he would kill Ron later, in a suitably dark and gruesome way. Maybe he would literally stab him in the back?

Anyways. He and Ron joined forces for the ‘funner’ adventures, which, though Tom was loathe to admit it, were actually very fun, but when the thirteen year old didn’t want to read up on the history of the tombs, it was either Charlie, or in worse cases, Percy, that Tom traveled with.

Charlie, as it turned out, should have died on three separate occasions. ‘Fire born’ as the Weasleys were, they could apparently get burns, but if he hadn’t had that slight magical resistance then he would be a goner.

On the third day of their trip, Charlie explained this- which led to a _very_ worthwhile discovery.

“The first time was because I was a stupid newbie,” Charlie admitted. He leaned against the walls of one of the side chambers, which was apparently the resting place of a magical Pharaoh’s prized Kneazle. “Dragons are highly territorial- you _never_ encroach towards anything they consider theirs, unless you have them chained to the gills. I made the mistake of trying to fill a Welch Green’s water trough while it was still in the pen, and paid the price.” Charlie gestured to a particularly gruesome burn that rippled up his left arm. “Second time was because of a _different_ dumb newbie, and the third was because some ‘activists’ broke in and released three of the dragons. Couldn’t free them all, ‘cause the Hungarian Horntail they let out from the medical station ate them.” Charlie smiled happily, the burn on his jaw pulling grotesquely. “Gotta love dragons.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “You must be crazy to want to be around dumb, flying lizards all day. They can’t be reasoned with, and they are unable to communicate anything beyond the inclinations of a wild animal. The last species capable of human speech-”

“Died out with Merlin, yes,” Charlie interrupted. “But just because they can’t speak a human tongue doesn’t mean they don’t have language. Body gestures, pheromones- hell, I’m pretty sure even the way they hiss is a form of parseltongue.”

Tom froze. “What- that can’t be true- it’s not written in any of the school textbooks-”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, and Tom halted in his tracks. “You can’t just base your life around what’s in books,” Charlie said. “Experience is just as important. And as someone with dragon experience, I think my opinions pretty good.” Charlie shrugged. “That’s what I think though. I paid attention to what some of them were ‘saying’, and I tried to repeat it. I thought it worked out pretty good, but most of my coworkers think I’m crazy. But I do this now so that the dragons know I’m just filling up their troughs, and I haven’t been burned by one since.”

Charlie gave a series of choked off hisses, then collapsed into guffaws at the expression on Tom’s face. “HA! Sorry, I know it sounds weird-” Charlie froze. “Oh wait shit the heir of Slytherin stuff at Hogwarts- uh, don’t tell mom ‘bout this, please?”

Tom didn’t respond immediately. He was still processing what he had heard. It had been heavily accented, like a drunk Canadian trying to speak English, but the words still came through.

_Food. Friend. Safe._

Charlie Weasley could speak garbled parseltongue, and apparently, so could dragons.

…Interesting.

“Mm, that’s actually fairly intriguing, Charlie- maybe dragons aren’t so bad… I won’t breathe a word of this to mom, but someday I might like to see this reserve you work on…”

Charlie, the fool, smiled. “That would be great! Maybe next summer, eh? So- what are your favourite reptiles, if dragons aren’t your fancy? All cold blooded creatures hold a place in my heart.”

Tom smiled, and dived into the first worthwhile conversation of this trip. It was nice to be able to show an appreciation for snakes without being branded as a dark lord- even if Tom actually was (would become?) one. Charlie certainly had his uses.

Now- what plans could Tom make using _giant fire breathing reptiles?_

**XXX**

The, up till then, crowning achievement of the trip came thanks to the joined efforts of the twins and Tom. While their intentions were likely what amounted to benign in their twisted world, Tom’s were far more sinister.

Percy, after all, still hadn’t paid the price for that God damn _talk._ He deserved to be locked in a tomb.

High fives shared, and promising to not say a word, Tom and the twins had split from the (now shut) tomb of the seventh, and last, magical Pharaoh of Egypt. Maybe Percy would suffocate? OR! Maybe there were still primed traps in that tomb? It was a delight to think about.

“What did you do?” Molly immediately asked when she saw Tom.

…She couldn’t already be suspicious? Tom was a great actor!

Tom shifted. “Ah, mother- I just returned from the souvenir shop-”

Molly snorted. “Try again.”

Tom let his lower lip wobble. “But- but that’s where I was? I don’t know why you don’t believe me, but-”

“So, which tomb is it?”

“…”

Molly rolled her eyes. “I said, which tomb did you, Fred, and George cram your brother into?”

Tom swallowed, stunned that the jig that was up within five minutes of being played out. “How…”

“I knew from day one that something like this would happen- the twins wouldn’t be able to help themselves. I _am _surprised that you joined them though. I’m _very _disappointed in you, Gin.”

Tom could care less. “But- I circled back to the souvenir shop, I, I even _bought a mini scarab-” _Tom shook the keychain in Molly’s face. “How?!”

Molly frowned, and looked at Tom strangely. “Dear, you have six older brothers. Of _course_ I know all the tricks to deception and lying.” Molly sighed. “You didn’t even sneak that well, dear- you held yourself too high, I _knew _something was up. Why, when I was your age, I had perfected-” Molly awkwardly cut off her rant. “Ah- I mean, I had perfected… respectable behaviour! For shame, Gin! Now- where is your brother?”

Bill peaked around the corner, unnoticed till now. He grinned dryly at Tom, whose cheeks reddened. “Here, mum- but I bet you mean Percy, who’s probably mid-rant at the universe for the injustice of being the dreaded middle child. It’s why he got so tall, you know? To be noticed.”

Tom laughed despite himself, and Molly lifted her gaze as though praying for patience. She waved an arm and Tom got the message. With entourage in tow, Tom led them through the passageways, past the gift shop, past the side tunnel where he and Ron almost died, all the way to tomb of the seventh dead guy to a legacy of cat worshippers.

Dumbasses. Who in their right mind would worship cats? No wonder their empire collapsed.

Bill stepped past Tom towards the nearly concealed door, and carefully skimmed his hand over top, but not touching. He hummed, and turned back to face Molly and Tom with a heavy frown. He flickered his eyes to Tom. “Who was the last one to touch the door?”

Tom blinked. “Me?”

Bill hummed. “It’s probably nothing…”

“What,” Molly asked dryly.

“…This door might be cursed,” Bill admitted. Tom froze- he looked back at the door, tracing the ruins he could see. Most seemed to just be regular Egyptian writings that Tom couldn’t read.

“Here,” Bill said, and pointed at what Tom had thought was just a crack in the slab of the door. “It might be nothing- most ruins in tombs are actually deactivated due to losing their magic to their surroundings… But if it isn’t, you might start getting mysterious cuts…”

“Bill.”

“…blood will drain from your eyes…”

“_Bill_.”

“…the screams of the damned will ring in your ears-”

“BILL!” Molly screeched. Tom broke from his trancelike state, just in time to see Bill roll his eyes, wave his wand, and dodge out of the way as the slab slid against the wall, leaving a gaping hole. Percy came tumbling out, covered in dust but no worse for wear. Damn it. What was up with the universe and preventing Tom’s murder attempts?

Percy scrambled to his feet, adjusted his glasses, and heavily breathed. His eyes narrowed on Tom, and he furiously pointed, so angry he was unable to say a word. So Tom beat him to the punch.

“Never try to give me The Talk again and we’re even.”

Percy opened… and then shut his mouth. He gave a pinch lipped nod, then stomped past Molly, likely in search of the twins. Molly sighed, but then a smile, for some blasted reason, edged onto her face. “It’s never boring in this family,” she murmured, and turned after Percy down the tunnel.

Well, she wasn’t wrong. The Weasleys may be annoying at times, but in their presence, Tom had never felt the chills and bland despair that came with living a desolate life. Life with the Weasleys was paradise compared to his previous living arrangements; mostly because of the magic that filtered through every facet of daily living, but also because of the, Tom grudgingly admitted, _fun _shenanigans that they got up to. Case in point: this trip to Egypt.

It helped as well that the redheaded family wasn’t completely inept, with the exception of Arthur, who practically worshipped Muggles, the fool… And all, in fact, were rather observant. None had cottoned on to Tom’s murder and possession of their daughter (obviously) but Molly’s observations and ease in seeing through his deceptions worried Tom.

What else had they noticed?

Bill suddenly leaned over Tom’s shoulder, nearly giving him a heart attack. “Seriously, though- watch out for possible curse effects.” Bill gave a consolatory pat on Tom’s shoulder, and strode off out of sight.

Tom glanced back at the door, and in specific, the cracking pattern that may or may not be a deadly ruin. He snorted, crossed his arms, and turned away from the door.

Bill was just joking!

Tom glanced over his shoulder at the intricate crack again. It really was a distinct way for a slab to crack.

…Yes. Joking.

Tom raced down the tunnel, and his heart rate only evened out once he was once again in the distracting presence of Molly and her nagging, Percy and his whining, the twin’s, Charlie’s, and Ron’s laughter, Arthur’s sighing, and Bill’s secretive smile.

The Weasleys, if anything, were a good distraction from the problems of the world. And even if they were more clever then Tom had initially assumed, they still were nowhere close to discovering the truth.

They would never see Tom’s betrayal coming.

“Gin, come on- Charlie found a dead guys necklace, and Bill’s gonna de-curse it! It’s gonna be awesome!” Ron exclaimed, and looped his arm through Tom’s. He dragged him towards a hovering necklace that glowed green, and ominously released red smoke.

_But that betrayal could wait,_ Tom mused.

He watched with fascination as Bill performed a series of complex containment charms, squished in with the Weasley family as they all enjoyed together the unintentional light show produced.


	8. The Second Egypt Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom resolves to never trust attractive redheads again, and abruptly realizes that he remains caught up in the 'act'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update that doesn't take months? Egads!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy :)

Holy Mary mother of God, _Bill was right._ Tom was cursed, and if he didn’t do something soon, he would _die._

It was the same night they had locked Percy in the tomb, six days into their trip. It began with what felt like an aggressive stomach ache, which Tom had attributed to some grubby Ful Medames (some Egyption street food) that Ron insisted they try. Tom should never have trusted those slimy beans.

But then it had gotten worse. The stomach ache turned into a twisting pincer that felt like a poker being dug into his guts. Tom had gone to the bathroom, hoping that a shower in Bill’s bathroom (which was surprisingly nice other than the occasional scorpion) would do the trick, or he could just use a little magic to make the pain go away. That, after all, was what magic had always been capable of doing for Tom.

Except… when Tom disrobed, and stepped beyond the curtain, the truth became clear.

_Blood_ was dripping down his leg.

Tom was _bleeding._

The distant sounds of the other Weasleys’ snoring fading away into white noise as Tom stared blankly at the red river slowly washing down the drain.

Then, in a panicked flurry, Tom wrenched for the untraceable wand that he had nicked out of Arthur’s bag before entering the shower. He furiously cast the diagnostic charms that he knew, but no known spells were revealed. Likely because Egyptian curses would be sneaky enough to evade the perusal of detection charms that Tom had learned from a school library, _oh God-_

Wait. Bill knew the door was cursed, he had to know how to fix it.

Hurriedly, Tom snagged a roll of toilet paper and cobbled together a makeshift bandage for the cuts that must have lined the insides of his upper thighs and nether regions. That seemed to be where the curse had made the blood come from.

He barely remembered to get dressed, but within three minutes of realizing he was dying, Tom was frazzled, but clothed, and furiously shaking Bill awake.

Bill groaned, and tried to turn the other way from Tom to snuggle deeper into the couch.

“_Bill_,” Tom hissed.

Bill mumbled, nearly indistinct “_piss off.” _As if. The stupidly good looking tosser could go to sleep after he _prevented Tom from dying._

“Bill!” Tom wrenched on Bill’s arm, and in a moment of genius, cast a stinging hex with the stolen wand. It took a second for the spell to take (wands were so damn picky about letting strangers use them!) but the results were immediate once they worked.

“Fuck!” Bill bit out, and wrenched upright. He narrowed his eyes on Tom, and despite a heavy exhale through his nose, didn’t freak out. Probably the result of having six younger siblings that included the twins; Bill’s patience for bullshit and trickery must be unreal.

“_What, _Gin?” Bill bit out, and rubbed at his sleep encrusted eyes.

Tom swallowed. “It- it’s the _curse. _Bill, I’m bleeding, and you were right, and I’m gonna die, and then I’ll never be a professor, and you _need to fix it, _oh, _God,” _Tom whispered, as strange yips that seemed like cries of agony drifted into the small home from outside. “I’m already hearing the screams of the damned-”

“Stop right there. That’s just some of those damned Salwa, half dog half wolf half magic _things_, that like to keep people up at night.” Bill sighed, then in a practiced, smooth tone, asked, “Okay- from the beginning- what’s wrong?”

Tom shakily exhaled. “I had been having stomach aches since supper, but I thought they would go away.”

“Mmhm.”

“But they got worse- they even woke me up, they were so bad.”

“Mmhm.”

“So- I went to the bathroom. I thought a nice shower would make me feel better.”

“Mmhm.”

“And that’s when I noticed the blood dripping down my leg.”

“MmmMMMHM” Bill’s eyes suddenly went wide. “Oh _shit- _it’s- it’s- you know what it is!”

“No, I don’t!”

“It’s- it’s _you know what.”_

“No, I don’t! But you do! What curse is it, then? Can you fix it?” Tom refused to resort to pleading, but his desperation still managed to wiggle its way into his tone. Bill paled and glanced in the direction of his room that he had given up for Molly and Arthur.

“Uh- one, one moment, Gin.” Before Tom could stop him, Bill scrambled off the couch, and raced towards the bedroom. Tom awkwardly shifted in place, listening as Bill woke up Molly, Molly reprimanded Bill, then… some conversation occurred that Tom couldn’t hear. An ominous chill ran up Tom’s spine.

Probably because of that damn curse.

Molly stumbled out of the single bedroom, hair askew from a stumpy braid. Bill trailed awkwardly behind her, and despite Tom giving him a questioning, demanding look, Bill refused to meet his gaze.

“Dear, let’s have a little chat,” Molly said, and reached for Tom’s arm. Tom batted the appendage away with a hiss.

“I don’t have time for some dumb ‘chat’, I could be _dying_, Molly!”

Molly sighed through her nose, and shot a wicked glare back at Bill, whose shoulders crumpled inwards. He didn’t look nearly as cool now.

“Uh, Gin? I- I made up that whole curse thing.”

Tom blankly stared back. “What.”

Bill shifted. “It was all in good fun. It was just bad timing that you got, your, _y’know._”

“_You know what?”_

Molly rolled her eyes, and interceded on Bill’s half, who had gone an unattractive beet red. “No need to make this sound like a potential dark lord. It’s just your period, dear.”

Tom froze. Reality took a lazy tilt to the left, then slowly re-righted itself, if somewhat more askew then before.

Tom was right. He _was _cursed.

“Wow, Bill-”

“-we thought just Percy had a monopoly on scarring Gin!”

Tom wrenched around, and was met with the wide grins of the twins, beaming from within the blankets on the fold out bed to the side of the main room. And there, down on the floor, Ron and Charlie watched with wide eyes. Up on the ceiling, Percy frowned.

“I could have sworn I already informed you of the changes your body would be undergoing, Ginny- sorry, Gin.” He sighed, and turned over on the ceiling like some G rated version of a typical horror scene. “At least _I_ can call a period by its name, and not a euphemism for a dark lord worthy tragedy.”

Bill’s shoulders crumpled inwards under the combined pressures of Tom’s glares and his brothers raucous laughter.

**XXX**

“Smile, Gin!”

Tom darkly frowned at the shaking cameraman, and didn’t deign to even glance at Molly. “I’m bleeding from my vagina, mother. I don’t have it in me to smile.”

Ron snorted. “Yeah, but you had it in you to kick Bill in the balls.”

“He betrayed my trust!” Tom hissed. “The fool, acting all cool, then lying to me and wussing out when it mattered.” Tom glowered. “My dreams are filled with blood now. That, and despair for the woman that will be seduced by his outwardly suave ways.” Tom shuddered. “Forgive her, father, for she does not know what she is doing.”

Arthur blinked. “Uh, sure?”

“Not you!” Tom hissed. “I’m not Jesus, and you’re no Christian God!”

One of the twins tsked. “Who’d have known our little sister was so much for dramatics, Forge?”

“Not I, Gred! Well, then again, we recently overheard from Lee-”

“-Who heard from Angelina-”

“-who heard it from the second year she tutors-”

“-that you bitched out a couple third and fourth years on the train ride home!”

George leaned behind Molly to give Tom a congratulatory thump on the arm. “Nice hexing, Gin.”

And yes, Tom knew it was George. He had finally gotten around to spelling the damn duo with tracking charms. He had enough of a hellish surprise already to last him for the rest of this god damn trip. No need to keep confusing the twins as well, and fall for their childish name-switching schemes.

“_Hexing?” _Molly hissed. She reached over to pinch at Tom’s arm. “Gin, so help me, if you follow down the twins’ path-” Molly froze, her eyes widening. “Oh, Merlin, you already joined them in locking Percy in that tomb!”

Tom groaned, leaning away from Molly to huddle over against Ron as said boy laughed. Scabbers gave a squeak in Ron’s arm when Tom unintentionally (or maybe somewhat intentionally) squished him in his pursuits to lump against Ron rather than have Molly breathe down his neck.

Arthur patted Molly’s arm. “A little bit of hexing from a red-headed girl sounds fairly familiar, if you ask me. Knocking people out, setting bedsheets on fire, secret escapades-”

Molly slapped at Arthur’s arm, her face beat red. “You hush now!”

Arthur shrugged, a slight smile creeping across his cheeks. “Yes, dear. But you get what I mean.”

Tom certainly didn’t, but it seemed to do the trick. Molly shot Tom one more aggravated look, and sighed, but turned back to the increasingly anxious cameraman with a smile. At least Arthur could always be trusted to ‘tame the beast’ with his mysterious ways.

Charlie leaned down slightly (he really wasn’t that tall) from behind to whisper in Tom’s ear. “You’ll have to tell me about this battle against the older years some time. Bill and I could give a couple tips, if you hexing people becomes a trend. We picked things up outside of school.”

Tom gazed consideringly over his shoulder at Charlie, but shot Bill, who was next to Charlie and behind Ron, a scathing glare. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Charlie mouth ‘I tried’ to the incompetent curse breaker.

Bill could get on his hands and knees if he wanted to get back into Tom’s good graces. He was a Slytherin at heart. He needed some groveling to be in any way appeased- or at least proof that Bill had suffered sufficient, and equal, humiliation.

The cameraman in front of the Weasley family swallowed. “Ah, are- are you all ready, yet? I’ve, I’ve been waiting twenty minutes…”

“Yes!” Molly exclaimed. She clapped her hands and beamed, an instant turnaround from her previous harping. The cameraman mumbled something to himself- likely a curse against gingers- and leaned down to his camera.

“On the count of three,” he said.

“One-” a tickling sensation crept over Tom’s arm, and he forced himself not to shiver.

“Two-” the tickling past, but out of the corner of his eye he saw what was happening- or more like, felt. A slip of magic trickled its way towards Bill, who was staring resolutely forwards with a plastered on smile.

“Three!” Just as the camera flashed, Bill let out an unmanly squeal. Charlie shook with repressed laughter behind Tom, and even though he couldn’t see the effects, Tom’s face exploded into a wild grin.

“FRED! GEORGE!”

“And Charlie!” Charlie helpfully added.

Ron tipped forward, breathlessly laughing as the rest of the Weasleys sans Molly and Bill _lost their shit._ Molly tilted her head back, taking in at the same time as Tom what had occurred. Bill was… Bill was…

Quite pretty dressed as a woman, actually. He certainly had the cheekbones for being a drag queen.

Let him be awkward about feminine issues _now._

Tom and Ron giggled against each other, observing Bill from a step away, while Charlie and the twins surveyed their work proudly from behind Bill, hooting in approval as Bill bowed his head. Percy and Arthur were more reserved about it, but they didn’t hide their grins or snorting laughter.

Bill remained frozen. Then, he sighed… And _posed._

“This… this is perfect,” Ron mumbled, wiping tears from his eyes. Tom vaguely felt himself nod, too caught up taking in Bill fully accepting the punishment bestowed upon him with… ‘feminine grace’, as he gave a sultry cat walk in four inch heels (quite impressive on sand, really) and a spaghetti strap dress that didn’t hide his broad shoulders.

_Now though_, Tom thought, glancing to the side, _of course Molly was going to ruin it-_

Tom froze. Molly was beaming, her eyes lit up with good humour. “Another daughter,” she somehow managed to say, then cut herself off by giggling. She gave Arthur a little hip bump, and beamed at the rest of the family. “How did you know that this was my _true_ wish at the dinner table, everyone?”

Arthur swung an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “We just know you so well dear.” He blinked, and cocked his head. “I didn’t know Bill had the complexion to pull off blue eye shadow though. You learn something new every day.”

Observing the Weasley family with apathetic dread, the cameraman sighed. “Fucking Weasleys,” he mumbled, and held the developed photo up for observation. It started so well, with a wholesome, smiling family, then deteriorated into a drag show and rioting laughter. He grabbed his camera, and hurriedly escaped.

Tom didn’t even think to make his exit now that the obligatory picture was done. Unlike the cameraman, he didn’t feel the instinctual need to leave. He was too busy snickering, and grinning, and making increasingly witty catcalls to Bill with his brothers’ help.

**XXX**

After that, the trip seemed to fly by, to Tom’s secret disgruntlement.

They kept exploring the tombs. Bill, once more returned to Tom’s good graces (as he had, in fact, given an acceptable apology complete with a book on Egyption ruins- he knew just how to appease Tom already, it seemed) continued to show them around his worksites. They had to work around the schedules of Bill’s coworkers, who weren’t taking time off like Bill was, but Bill managed to sometimes get them on site even when work was in progress. Watching seven cursebreakers tackle a mummy to the ground and smack ruins on its groaning form was definitely a sight to see.

Eventually, however, the tombs became too monotonous for even Tom (cursebreaking involved more dirt and paperwork than Tom had expected) and the family split up to explore the nearby towns and Egyptian culture in full.

Maybe it because none of the culture was British, but it didn’t feel like Tom was surrounded by muggles. They were too different from the suburban nightmares of humans Tom was used to, and the culture shock of Egypt was almost reminiscent of Tom’s headfirst dive into the magical community. So, even when they broke away from the magical sections of the town… It still wasn’t _too _bad. Nowhere close to being the best part of the trip, of course! But not as awful as expected.

They almost lost Arthur in the muggle souvenir shop (so close!), and Fred and George vanished for a gap of six hours that was never accounted for, to the horror of all, but otherwise the rest of the trip was fairly tame.

Tom talked a little more with Charlie. Against his better judgement, he even agreed that writing to stay in touch wouldn’t be a bad idea, but he rationalized that for the possible payout. Anything was worth the opportunity to investigate dragons he could possibly speak with.

Bill peaked Tom’s interest with his career. He took a couple hours to show Tom specifically how they usually proceeded in decursing a room, and though the protocols were tedious (“and necessary, Gin! We had a guy die last month because he tripped into a non-sanctioned room!”) the cursebreaking itself was incredible. Tom, as Bill guided him through a ‘mostly’ debugged room, felt at the magic fueling the traps.

It was a skill he already had, but having Bill’s extra bits of commentary on the traps made them make more sense. He picked things up fast, and he felt that he could reliably identify the general type of a ruin set trap now. Bill even let him watch as he dismantled a trap similar to the one that had almost caught Ron and him, near the beginning of the trip. What was up with Egyptians and acid? Weren’t scarabs and mummies supposed to be the popular trend?

To Tom’s frustration, the actual working of the ruins went over his head. He was at a seventh year level in ruins, at most. Bill’s knowledge on the subject blew that out of the water.

(“It’s to be expected, Gin- this is the kind of job where you’re always learning something new, and the ruins we encounter sometimes aren’t even in our archives. We have to deconstruct them ourselves, and make new ruins to specifically handle the tricky bits we encounter.”

Tom frowned. “But Masters, people with decades of experience, are the ones who make ruins, and you’re only in your twenties-”

“You don’t need to be an old foggy to create something, Gin.” Bill smiled. “Look at the twins- I bet you that if anyone in this family becomes rich and wildly successful, it’ll be them. Cause something I’ve learned, now that I’ve left school…” Bill leaned closer to Tom, and ruffled his hair, much to Tom’s displeasure. “Is that book smarts comes from memorization, but brilliance comes from creation. That’s how you pick out the real genius’s.” Tom slapped Bill’s hand away. He turned with a huff, knotted hair whipping… and thoughts racing.

…Real geniuses, huh?)

Tom shook his head out of the scene from the previous day, and observed the twins, who were relaxing in the sand. Fred reached up a hand, elegantly towards the sky- then slapped it down to smack a clump of rolled up, soggy museum pamphlets in George face. Said boy squawked, and then the twins were at it, hooting as they rolled around like Neanderthals, using their fists to fight when they had _magic._ Did they forget they were wizards, or something?

Tom snorted, and turned away from the dorks. Real geniuses? Yeah right. The smartest one here was Tom himself, by a longshot.

**XXX**

It was during the last day of the trip that Tom realized how off track he had become.

He had finally given the rest of the Weasleys the slip. To his later shame, he realized it hadn’t even been intentional. Ron, Percy and him had been wandering the wizard hideaways, looking for last minute knick knacks to buy and bring back, and Tom had trailed off behind them while checking out mini sarcophagi that were spelled to only open for the one that put a drop of blood inside. He had even been thinking about buying some for Fred, George, and Charlie, for the wonderful prank they had pulled on Bill.

The next shop he looked into made him realize what he had become, living with filth for so long.

It was the kind of shop that the Tom of fifty years ago was used to. Tucked out of sight, not standing out or blending in, but simply… off center, a little bit of magic working to keep the more upright folk of the world from venturing into its depths.

So of course Tom had noticed it. With no particular goals, he had dipped inside. If anything, he was only curious to find out if the dark arts in Egypt were really that much more risqué then those of Britain.

The smell of old books slipped through the air, accompanied by the also comfortable smell of iron on the tongue, a whiff of blood that made Tom feel at home. He trailed a hand just above the bookshelf against the left wall of the narrow shop, careful not to touch anything. He had already learned that lesson at Alucard’s Menagerie in Diagon Alley when he was twelve. Anything, in a world of magic, was capable of _biting._

He casually perused the titles. He couldn’t read most of them (his knowledge of Arabic was rudimentary, and this bookstore did not cater to English travelers) but he could pick out the words he already knew, like monster, dark, haunt, ritual, soul-

…Soul?

Tom paused. He squinted at the spine of the thin tomb tucked near the back of the shop, and focusing his mind to remember what he could of the blasted language, he traced the shape of the words of the title. He finally managed to parse it out after a minute, the heavy loops and graceful caresses of the letters certainly looking pretty, but being blasted difficult to read.

The title was “Magics of Soul, Self, and Split”, with allowances for grammar, because Tom wasn’t some codgy old translator.

Tom breathed heavily through his nose, his eyes wide. Could it be?...

Seeing the book on what was likely Horcruxes was like being drenched in icy water, shocking and numbing. What the hell had Tom been doing this entire time? Exploring tombs? Getting fat on Molly’s cooking? Messing around with Ginny’s brothers?

He was supposed to be lulling _them_ into a false sense of security, not himself.

It made Tom feel sick. The awful, gut wrenching kind that he had last felt when Dumbledore refused to let him stay at Hogwarts for the summer. He had plans, machinations to design, a Boy Who Lived to destroy, and magical ability to increase.

It took this musty old shop, a casual perusal, for him to realize how far he had fallen.

Tom resolutely straightened his back. No more. No more of this _nonsense._ He could still maintain his cover, but he couldn’t keep putting off his plans with the excuse that he had ‘so much time’. Hadn’t he been complaining on his other self’s terribly slow machinations? The god damn _thirty years _it had taken Voldemort to finally cause anarchy?

The book on Horcruxes was the ticket. He didn’t have to blindly race ahead, but he could damn well do some research, and actually figure out what other plans Voldemort had laid.

All he had to do now was take it for himself.

He darted a glance around the bookshelf towards the counter of the store. There was no one at the till, but he wasn’t an idiot. Tom focused on the hum of magic in the air, slowly parsing through the way it slipped and slid through the air, unimpeded, except-

There!

Just to the left of the desk counter, which was laden with book handling materials for those of a dark sort, like soot, varnish, and specific to the region, ‘scarab killer’…. Was a blank space around which the magic flowed, like water curving around a rock in a river… and which must be the owner of the store.

They were ready and aware to catch possible thieves, and likely the apparent emptiness of the store was a lure for just that reason. It was easier to mug people that way, and with a guilt free conscious if they tried to mug you first.

Whoever they were, they were smart. They had a good vantage point of the store, and they had certainly seen Tom enter. They had only used an especially strong notice me not- maybe a local variant?- but otherwise had laid off on shielding charms. Extra magic could compound over time, and spells, no matter how well they were layered, could deteriorate each other.

Having a shield charm of any sort wasn’t especially necessary for them, anyways. Their wand was probably at the ready, a moment away from casting, always ready for the clientele that was to be expected at this kind of store.

They weren’t ready for Tom though.

Tom’s mind raced with the ‘safety measures’ he knew he would have to beat, the subtle currents of magic and his own hypothesis’s allowing him to determine what spells were in effect to prevent robberies. Bill’s lesson from the previous few days aided in this. That low hum, coming up from the floor… Probably blood based ruins that stuttered the magic of any wand not ‘keyed’ in. The strange pressing from the shelves? Likely traps that the clerk could trigger to impale and or dismember a robber caught unawares. Well… bring it on! Tom was more than ready.

There was never a thought in his mind of actually buying the book. A red-headed English girl buying a book on what was very likely horcruxes, around the time the Weasleys had visited? He would almost certainly be found out in the future, if he even had enough money to pay for the damn book (the price said negotiable, which probably translated to ‘scam customers out of everything they have’.)

Even in shady places like this, books on these kinds of truly dark magics were kept under supervision by the local government. The only option was to steal it. And steal it he would.

Tom carefully matched his magic to his surroundings. It wasn’t a notice me not, because he was still clearly visible, but he _belonged _more to the store now, was in tune with its hums and songs. He cursed his lack of wand. Stupid Molly snatching it after that day he cast the shield charm for himself and Ron… He would be limited in what spells he could accomplish.

Still, he would succeed. He was the heir of Slytherin, the master of a thousand year old Basilisk. Book thievery was not an especially difficult art in comparison to finding the chamber of secrets.

Now matched to the store, Tom put the book back on the shelf. He nonchalantly walked down the aisle. He didn’t try and make himself look innocent- being able to come into the store already proved he wasn’t- but he did put on an oblivious air.

He took his time. He inspected every cranny, genuinely let himself look at other books, and blended into the background. He became something easily overlooked- he belonged, and wasn’t acting suspicious.

Tom kept a careful ‘eye’ on the magic of the other person in the room, waiting for it to even out. Eventually, it did. He timed it so he was near the front of the store when his magic had finally made him unnoticeable, and he slipped in beside the counter… Where the hidden store clerk resided.

Step Two.

Tom snapped out his fist and punched the clerk in the face.


	9. Egypt's End and Tom's Near Miss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom adds thievery to his list of crimes, the Weasleys return home only to learn of Sirius Black's escape, and Detective Harry almost solves the case.

The owner of the shop snarled, but Tom was already in motion again.

He snared the scarab killer from the counter and hurled the glass jar into the woman’s now visible face. The glass shattered, and with the additional distraction currently seeping into the screaming woman’s eyes, Tom enacted phase three.

He lunged forwards, towards where the wizard clerk’s right arm was flailing her wand with a soon to be spell. Tom didn’t give her the chance to complete her casting. He wrenched at the woman’s arm, and bit at the woman’s wrist when the hold was not relinquished on the wand.

And finally, the damn stick was in Tom’s hands. He quickly jammed it back towards the clerk, but not before the woman caught a fistful of Tom’s hair and _yanked._

“_Uncouth vermin-” _Tom hissed, and completed his curse despite the tears in his eyes and the woman wrenching a hand up to yank on his arm.

The woman slumped. Her weight pressed against Tom’s back, and her hand remained half-clawed in the tangles of Tom’s hair. That was going to be a wreck to get out.

It took Tom some of the next most frantic minutes of his life to get the greasy fingered woman’s hand out of his already tangled locks, aware that someone could walk into the store at any second and ruin everything. But, as always, Tom succeeded in his endeavours.

The clerk, whose eyes were now leaking a strange gray pus thanks to the scarab killer, was dumped behind the counter and covered using a slightly difficult to cast notice-me-not that left Tom’s hand tingling. The wand, however, was not as temperamental as Tom’s had previously been, and it worked sufficiently. A casual wave of it obliviated the woman and locked the store. Unluckily for the woman, Tom had not had much practice with removing memories. Tom gave it a 50/50 chance that the woman ended up forgetting her own name.

But nevermind that. Tom lifted the wand up to look upon. It was rather short, an ash grey colour split with small slivers of green. It was also an adults wand, and thus, untraceable. Tom’s lips pinched in thought, and he turned the wand this way and that in his hands.

It was… _strange._ It listened to his commands, but everything about the stupid stick seemed off. It had caved so easily, not putting up a struggle as Tom had cast spells against its previous owner. Its loyalty was flimsy and fleeting.

Tom shrugged, and pocketed it anyways. It would be the wand he reserved for dark and off the record spellcasting, another tool that would help the plans he would commence in the coming year secret.

And now- onto more important matters.

Tom waved his borrowed wand, and the numerous dark and terrible reading materials of the store (in particular, the book on Horcruxes) swirled into a bag Tom pilfered from behind the counter and enlarged with an expansion charm.

Tom’s knuckles that were wrapped around the wand, the ones he had just rammed into the clerk’s face as a common muggle would do (as any ‘good’ Weasley would do) twinged, but Tom gave them a light shake and an episkey to erase the sensation.

He stood tall, and with seized wand in hand, continued his work.

**XXX**

“Ginevra Molly Weasley! Where on _earth _have you been?!”

_In a dark and decrepit store raiding shelves and stealing wands_, Tom thought. He smiled at the horrid woman before him and lightly shrugged his shoulders, sidestepping past a sudden group of foreigners that blindly passed them with cameras snapping at the sky. _Blegh. Tourists._ “Sorry, mother- I got caught up looking at souvenirs. I wanted something special to help me remember our last day in Egypt.”

Molly sighed, and stepped towards Tom, the numerous shopping bags in her arms teetering as she shifted them to one arm so she could card a hand through Tom’s hair. It got stuck halfway through, just like the clerks had earlier.

Vermin were inclined to claw through Tom’s hair, it seemed.

“Well, you’re safe and sound, and there haven’t been reports of fire or mayhem about you like there was with the twins, so I’ll let you off the hook this time.” Molly’s eyes narrowed. “I hope the ‘souvenir’ was worth my worry.”

Tom laughed. “Absolutely, mother. I’ll certainly remember Egypt now.” In his expanded bag, the numerous books and artifacts suddenly felt heavy despite the weightless charm he had just cast. The new wand must have some issues to work through, then.

Molly waved over her shoulder, down along the street full of people meandering past stalls and generating a hussle and bussle that Tom knew from experience in London was akin to unclean cattle. “Ron and Percy are waiting with your father down the road at ‘The Local Locust’- wait there till we get the twins out of jail.” Molly’s lips pursed. “And no detours this time.”

Tom repressed an eye roll, and instead nodded his head.

Molly gave him another look, before sighing and slinging a quick one armed hug around his shoulders, which was made crowded both my Molly’s bulk and the bags she _still_ hadn’t put down. “I hope you’ve enjoyed Egypt, dear,” Molly murmured in Tom’s ear. She finished off her mothering with a quick pat down of Tom’s hair, and a slight, secretive smile. She waved at Tom, and walked off down the street to rescue the twins.

Tom hurriedly forced his lips that had quirked upwards back into a frown as Molly’s distinctive form disappeared into the crowd. He breathed in deeply, then breathed out. With that action, he relaxed. His posture became languid. His lips lilted into the smallest of smirks. His gaze narrowed just so, steadied so that whoever he looked upon would be faced with the illusion of him looking down on them.

It was one of the first things he learned to do upon joining Slytherin.

Finally, he felt like himself again. Like the Tom Riddle that was only masquerading as Ginny Weasley, and would use the following year at Hogwarts to prepare for what was to come. This year, things were going to be different.

Tom smirked, and pushed through crowds, off towards his ‘family’, where he would once again don his mask as Ginny Weasley.

**XXX**

“How the bloody hell did you guys end up in jail?” Ron asked George, leaning around Tom in the Portkey line.

Bill slapped a hand on George’s shoulder before the shifty eyed boy could answer. “These little shites,” Bill happily said, “thought they could get away-”

“_Bill,” _George hissed, and tried to slap an arm up to seal Bill’s mouth. It was folly. Bill had nearly half a foot of height on George, and that cocky ass grin on his face showed the lengths he would go to finish his story. George’s frantic jumping to tackle Bill revealed the lengths he would go to stop the story as well.

“-with smuggling a rare set of drugs-”

“Plant samples!” Fred interrupted, and joined George in trying to bring down the great and terrible force that was a self-righteous older brother.

Charlie peeled in from the side and looped his arm around George’s neck, casually pulling the flailing boy away with a chokehold around the neck. Charlie grinned. “They were caught when _someone _accidently mixed a couple, setting the whole works on fire, which started a drug hazed bonfire in the lower markets.”

Bill nodded his head. “Hazed is right- everyone shopping for figs got blitzed out of their minds.”

“O-okay, they get the picture,” Fred pleaded, trying to tap out against Bill’s arm where the man had him pressed into his side. Bill glanced at Ron, Percy, and Tom, who were all watching him with wide eyes. Bill laughed. “Of course, the best part is that Fred and George were put in hold up where the aurors keep service creatures- in particular, twenty hybrid sphinx cats that go… _nuts_ over the ‘plant samples’,” Bill mocked. Bill smiled. “Fred and George were coated with some of the powder from the explosion. So when we went in to pick them up…”

“We had to pull them from a literal hoard of cats that were very, _very_ horny-”

“All ABOARD!” Arthur interrupted, swooping towards his oldest children and detangling the twins from them so that he could loop his arms over the shoulders of the sweating boys.

Ron glanced over at Tom, and they shared a smile. Served the twins right-

Tom whipped his head back forward, his lips twinging down in boredom. What a waste of time. Who cared if the twins got their just desserts for all their pranks over the summer through a truly incredible string of hilarious events.

Arthur smiled at Bill. “Thanks for letting us stay with you Bill. I know it was crowded letting us stay, but we really appreciated your offer, and most importantly, getting to see you.” Arthur’s eyes crinkled with a trace of watery shine. “We are proud of you- of both of you,” Arthur finished, and looked towards Charlie as well.

Bill nodded firmly at Arthur. “It’s always good to see you, dad- to see all of you. You’ll always be welcome.”

“Romania is your next stop, I hope,” Charlie added on. He glanced over at Tom, and gave him a nod. “You too, Gin. It’s one thing to talk about dragons, but I bet you’d love to meet them in person.”

Yes, Tom would. An army of flying, fire breathing lizards sounded delightful.

Tom opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted before he could begin. This family was great at interruptions.

“Okay, I actually meant that all aboard thing,” Arthur said. “Your mother’s getting our portkey right now, and we’ll be leaving any minute-”

“FOURTY SECONDS!” A familiar voice screamed. Case in point- _another _interruption, Tom thought to himself with an eyeroll. The customs office around them was treated to the sight of a round woman embracing her inner wrecking ball as she barrelled through the crowd with a can of mushroom soup lifted above her head. “THIRTY!” Molly screamed, and ten seconds later, the family was scrambling to arrange bags and arms so that necessary contact was made with their portkey.

“We almost missed it because of your two’s escapade,” Molly hissed towards the twins, who for once bowed their heads instead of chirping out a witty comeback. Molly twisted in a physical and emotional one-eighty, beaming a full watt smile at Bill and Charlie, who were standing a step back from the chaos surrounding the soup can at their center. “I love you both! Write, and don’t be strangers!”

“Love you too,” Bill and Charlie sing-songed together. Bill opened his mouth to say something else, but his gaze caught on something within their group. His eyes widened, and with incredulous amusement, he said, “You conniving little shits-”

And then the world twisted, and they were gone.

Immediately as they touched down in their yard with the single whirl instead of the three jumps it had taken to get to Egypt (portkey’s out of Egypt were much more precise and easier to come by, thanks to a lack of regulations) the twins pulled away with identical smirks.

“School soon-”

“So we best get packing-

“So much to do and so little time-”

“And plans to make with goods in hand!”

Molly caught onto their grins first. Her face instantly turned a deep and prominent red. “Fred,_ George_…”

“Egypt is the best!” They cried together, and contrary to their attitudes before, they wildly grinned as they hoisted their bags away, one green handbag in particular catching the eye- mostly because it was smoking.

Ron and Tom took a step back, and watched as Molly attempted to chase the boys as they raced off behind the house. Ron sighed. “It was too good to be true.”

Tom nodded, but otherwise kept quiet. His hand tightened on a particular bag in his hand.

The twins weren’t the only ones who had managed to smuggle precious cargo out of Egypt.

**XXX**

It was all a blur after that.

Unpacking commenced, then packing began again, as the Weasley family scrambled to get together their things for the imminent school year. Molly attempted to confiscate the twins pilfered goods, but their empty pockets and shit-eating grins proved that they had already hidden their wares.

They were grounded for the rest of the trip, and given a warning to ‘be safe’ by Arthur, but had otherwise gotten off scott-free.

In the face of Molly and Arthur giving up on true punishment (for now), Percy, who came home to discover a certain Head Boy badge delivered, took up the charge. He directed the twins with pompous commands, and started extolling his ‘wisdom’ on Tom to prepare him for his ‘second’ year.

Tom had no wishes to sit around with pompous Percy (who nauseatingly acted like the only real pureblood) for the rest of his remaining summer, but there were no ready distractions. The twins were grounded or plotting, Molly was frazzled trying to get their shopping trip in order, Arthur was busy with work- though Tom wasn’t quite desperate enough yet to consider sitting around with a muggle lover- and Ron…

Well. Ron was suddenly busy with a plethora of letters from both a certain mudblood and a boy who should have died. Contrary to how the boy had hanged around Tom constantly in Egypt, he had become the family recluse, heaving around books with hardly a whine that the elderly Errol had been forced to pick up for him.

Which suited Tom’s plans just fine. He didn’t need some idiot boy that pandered to Potter, when instead he could be readying for the coming year by reading his newest books.

Despite dedicating his remaining time at the Weasleys to his readings though, Tom was aggravated to find that he was barely making headway. He didn’t have his usual accompanying texts on Arabic, Greek, and other languages to work his translations. Neither did he possess a proper room to carefully cast the detection charms and Dark Arts necessary to make sure that none of the books permanently blinded him, or some other gruesome fate. It seemed that until he returned home to Hogwarts that his plans would have to be put on hold.

Other reading material was quite helpful, though. For once, the Daily Prophet contained a headline that actually made Tom choke on his tea.

“Sirius Black escapes Azkaban!”

Black- one of the few people Tom was sure was absolutely and irrevocably loyal to him- had escaped an inescapable prison, and was at large.

Tom had to force back his grin that evening at supper while Arthur flourished the ‘grim’ newspaper to the family. Yes. What ‘terrible’ news.

This was looking to be an interesting year.

After that excitement, it took too long for their trip to Diagon Alley to finally occur. It had been the final highlight of the summer for Tom- the chance to race off with actual pocket change from the Weasley’s winnings to find new books was certainly a draw- but Molly had other plans.

“You need… _things_ for the new year, dear,” she adamantly told Tom as they entered the Leaky Cauldron. “So I’ll take you for your shopping first. Arthur, Percy!” She said, and turned to the ‘responsible’ men. Molly glared at the twins. “Keep an eye on the twins… and Ron, as well.”

“Actually, mum,” Ron said, “Hermione said she would meet me here-”

“RON!” The mudblood, much like the devil, entered upon her mention to tackle Ron with a hug. The boy teetered to the side, then straightened to hug the girl again, a massive smile spreading on his face.

“’Mione!” Ron squeezed her, suddenly in his own world now that he was with another member of the ‘golden trio’. “It’s great to see you! I’ve got loads to tell you now ‘bout Egypt, and I found some stuff in those law books, and-” Ron paused. “What the hell is that,” he blankly said.

The mudblood scooped up the ugliest cat Tom had ever seen from the floor. “This is Crookshanks!” she said. “He’s my new cat; isn’t he adorable?”

Fred tilted his head and squinted at the animal. “I don’t know if you can classify animals that look like they have a gang history as adorable.”

George nodded. “That right there’s a beast, it is.”

“Hush now!” Molly interrupted. She turned to the mudblood with a smile. “It’s wonderful to see you, Hermione. And… your new companion.”

“See?” Fred whispered in Tom’s ear. “Even mum thinks the animal’s a wreck.”

“More like a doormat waiting to be skinned,” Tom muttered back, and Fred choked on his laugh.

The mudblood’s head whipped up, and her gaze caught on Tom’s. The girl nervously smiled, and her arms tightened around her new cat. “Hello… Ginny. How was your summer?”

Tom smiled. “Good. I didn’t have anyone telling me I was a worthless Gryffindor, so it was swell.” The mudblood flinched at Tom’s words. The cat in her arms was lifted slightly higher, as if her mangy pet could protect her from Tom’s ire.

Ron blinked. “Why would you say that?”

Tom didn’t get a chance to respond. Scabbers, who had been held by Percy, squeaked, and bit the boy’s hand. Percy gasped, and then the rat was off, scampering beneath a nearby counter to the loud displeasure of the old woman sitting at it.

Crookshanks was off like a shot behind the rat. After a series of clangs and bangs that involved the cat chasing the rat across tables and finally pouncing on it with deadly precision, the cat returned with Scabbers clenched tightly in its jaws, wriggling and squeaking.

“What the bloody hell!” Ron bent down in front of Crookshanks, and wrenched at the cats jaws to get it to release Scabbers. The cat growled, and it was only once the mudblood lifted the cat and helped Ron that Scabbers was free.

The following blowout, compared to their sickeningly sweet welcome, was pleasant to watch.

“WATCH THAT BLOODY CAT! It could have _killed _poor Scabbers!”

“Crookshanks can’t help it, can you, Crookshanks?” the mudblood crooned to said animal, which looked like a serial killer that had been transfigured into a cat.

Percy moaned. “My hand!” He glanced up at his family, all of whom were watching the two-thirds golden trio trainwreck. Percy cleared his throat. “My hand!” he repeated.

Molly absentmindedly patted his shoulder, her gaze still focused on Ron and Hermione. “Yes Percy, that’s nice.”

Tom grinned. In-fighting, middle child complexes…. This day was just getting better and better.

“Hermione? Ron!?”

“HARRY!”

And again, a complete one-eighty for Ron and Hermione, plus a sour turn of the day for Tom. The two instantly stopped fighting and beamed up at the messy haired boy peaking down at them from the railing. The boy’s green eyes lit up with joy, and then he was racing down the steps, two at a time.

As Potter made his hurried and excited greetings, Molly descended.

“Harry! Oh, look how you’ve grown! And your hair, my, so wild, I should buy a brush for you as well as Gin…”

Potter smiled. “It’s good to see you too, Mrs. Weasley.”

Tom crept to the side to avoid the sickening sight of Potter smiling and laughing, acting like he was actually part of the Weasley family. He kept an eye on the boy, and glared, before turning to the barkeep. “Can you tell my mother that’ll I’ll be off doing my shopping?” He asked.

The barkeep smiled. “You bet, girly- Tom’ll let her know for ya.”

Tom froze. “What did you just say?”

But the barkeep was already turning around humming to himself. Tom forced his shoulders to loosen, and he hurriedly raced from the counter to reach the entrance to Diagon alley. He pressed on the correct bricks, only half paying attention to the familiar pattern as he rationalized the previous exchange in his head. The man was talking about himself; his name must be Tom as well. It was the only explanation. His name was Tom, whereas Tom’s name was…

Tom froze before he could tap the last brick. What was his name?

It had never really mattered to Tom. He had already determined by the time he hit his third year that he would someday shed his given, _muggle_ name. By his fourth year, he had stumbled upon the monicker of “Voldemort” while messing around with anagrams.

Tom was the name of the boy who grew up in the orphanage. The halfblood that played the part of the pureblood to survive Slytherin.

Voldemort was the name of the dark lord that had terrorized Britain. He was Tom’s future, a powerful man that commanded the purebloods, and put the lower races in their place beneath him.

And Ginevra Weasley… was the name of a dead girl.

Tom shook his head. How he referred to himself wasn’t important, at least not right now. He was Tom. He was not Ginevra Weasley.

He was simply someone who understood power, and the means necessary to seize it.

It was an answer that left Tom satisfied for now, though he did have to give his head a quick shake to brush off the remainder of his thoughts. He tapped the final brick of the doorway, and made his way into the alley.

Distantly, he could hear Molly asking where ‘Gin’ was. He pushed on, regardless of the way that his mind had now been honed to perk to attention upon that name’s call.

**XXX**

“…auror’s rushed the place, but they weren’t able to find the chamber. At first I reckoned we should tell someone, but then Fred brought up the whole ‘Harry’s the only known speaker of parseltongue’ shtick, and I also figured that that’d be right suspicious of us to know where the chamber was. Another nail in the coffin of Harry’s reputation, and all that.” Ron whipped his head back and forth, before leaning in to whisper in Harry’s ear, “By the way, any progress on ‘Operation: Mysterious Item’?”

Harry shook his head. “I’ve been messing around with it all summer, but still, no more visions or responses_._ It’s almost like it’s dead…” Harry cocked his head. “I did find out how court procedures work from an insider’s perspective though- that bit of accidental magic I mentioned landed me on the wrong side of the law.” At the sight of Ron and Hermione’s widened gazes, Harry waved a hand. “No big deal. I didn’t use my wand, so they couldn’t charge me under the harsher laws.” Harry eyes glinted. “Back on the Mysterious Item though- I think if we looked around the Chamber a bit more, we could find some more evidence. And if we showed Dumbledore what we have…”

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at the remaining Weasleys and her parents, who were trailing behind them as they walked through Diagon Alley. “A little quieter, Harry. We can’t tell _anyone _about our suspicions- even Dumbledore! He barely managed to keep his position as headmaster, and even he couldn’t save Hagrid.” Hermione sighed. “Besides; who would believe us?”

Ron pursed his lips as a passing group of students shot Harry a set of deadly glares. “Yeah, Harry. You’re kinda already enemy number one.” Ron blinked. “Actually, that’d be Sirius Black now, I reckon.” Ron grinned. “Maybe you’ll catch some slack now with an actual serial killer on the loose!”

“Is it bad that I’m happy he escaped just for that reason?” Harry responded with a grin. He glanced over his shoulder and frowned. “Hey, where’s Ginny?”

Hermione’s shoulders tightened at the girl’s name. Ron breezily replied, “She ran off; didn’t you notice? She’s been doing that all summer, and she dipped off a couple times while we were in Egypt as well.” Ron shrugged. “Mum’s letting it slide so that she can be more ‘independent’.”

Harry narrowed his gaze, and responded as they ducked into Flourish and Blott’s. “Isn’t that strange behaviour? I could have sworn she was on our tail all last year.”

Ron and Hermione gave Harry a _look._

Harry blinked. “What?”

The other two of the trio exchanged a long-suffering glance. Ron raised two fingers, pointed them at his own eyes, and then pointed them at Hermione’s. He mouthed, ‘Your turn’. Said girl sighed, and tilted her head towards Harry as they made their way down the book isle. “Harry, Ginny was a tag-along last year because she had a massive crush on you. _Massive.”_

Ron nodded. “Stark raving obsessed, really. I think it peaked in creepiness at the end of the year- Hermione caught Gin looking up and compiling newspaper clippings about you being the ‘boy who lived’.”

“What? Why didn’t you two mention this before??”

“Because I learned that she was the one who had Fred and George prank us. She’s over you now, mate. Besides- I didn’t feel like revisiting the horror of my little sis _liking _you.”

Harry paused for a moment, his eyes wide. He blinked a couple times, but then brushed past his processing of the younger girls apparently finished crush on him to bite back into his previous observation. “Well. That’s… good? But… when did that change?” Harry narrowed his gaze. “Ginny’s changed a lot, hasn’t she? Even at the end of last year, I swear she was acting very confrontational. It’s almost like she became a different person.”

Hermione swallowed. “She also chewed me out in the library. It was- well. Very unusual of her.”

Hermione and Harry shared a look. Harry’s gaze slowly tightened, and Hermione’s eyes widened at the sight. “You don’t think…” she said.

Ron glared at both of them. “Shove _off_,” he hissed. “Gin had a rough year of it. She was apparently being bullied, and had to learn how to defend _and_ heal herself. So what if she doesn’t act lovesick around you anymore? So what if sometimes even _I _get odd vibes off of her?” Ron sighed. “She may have acted pretty odd throughout the summer, but she’s still my bloody sister. She… she gets scared and lonely sometimes too, and I think that she really had trouble fitting in as she was- she felt out of place. So she adapted- and she changed. And she doesn’t need you, of all people, pulling a witch hunt on her,” Ron said, pointing at Harry.

Harry swallowed. “Sorry. Just… I heard from ‘Mione that she even cursed some girls on the train.”

Ron nodded. “And served them right. They were being absolute twats.”

“Ron!” Hermione gasped.

Said boy shrugged. “Just calling it like it is.”

Harry sighed. “You’re right- I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. It’s just been hard not to point fingers lately, with all the hate-mail, The Heir running loose, and Hagrid getting thrown in Azkaban.” Harry rubbed his chin. “You figure we can hunt down Black just to get the down-low on how to bust someone from Azkaban?”

“We will only employ _legal_-“

“Ish,” Ron added.

“-means to free Hagrid,” Hermione firmly stated. She whipped her head to finally focus on the bookshelves, the distant voice of Molly Weasley berating the twins for trying to check whether Crookshanks was a serial killer animagus in disguise drifting in from the other side of the store. “What was all on the lists; the one your mom gave us, and our own?”

Harry dug a crumpled up piece of paper from his pocket, while Ron pulled a pristinely folded one from his own. Ron caught Harry and Hermione glancing at it, and he blushed. “You learn after accidently crumpling letters you’re sending to the ministry one too many times, okay!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “He _can_ learn,” she mumbled. She gestured to Ron’s paper. “Well then?”

Ron cleared his throat. “For Care of Magical Creatures, we have ‘A Basic Guide to The Creatures of the World,’ by Porpus LeGrange, and for Charms…”

Harry tuned out the rest of Ron’s words as the redhead and Hermione loaded up the three’s schoolbooks from the shelves. He glanced down at the list he held. It was filled to the brim with titles for various legal books, law proceedings, de-cursing manuals, and a very important guide to navigating Dark Locations. At the bottom of the list, he stared in particular at the title of a book he hadn’t told Hermione and Ron about, and had added after his own searching once he had begun his stay at the Leaky Cauldron.

‘The Dark Art of Possession: Sleuthing the Soul.’

Harry pursed his lips, then sighed. He carefully tore the book title from the bottom of the list, and pocketed the scrap.

His friends were right.

He was just being paranoid. 


	10. Remus Lupin- An Actual Teacher (TM)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom returns to Hogwarts, but gossipers and a new, and strangely enough, competent DADA professor ruin the joy of coming home.

Molly’s nattering faded into the background as Tom beheld the sight before him. The train whistle echoed, and his heart thudded in his chest.

_The Hogwarts’ Express._

It had been only two months, but the mere proof of his imminent return to Hogwarts lightened Tom’s step. He didn’t have the headspace anymore to internally complain about the ‘feminine products’ that Molly had pawned onto him after his glorious lonesome day in Diagon Alley (who needed the Weasleys when you had translation texts and dark arts kits to buy). He didn’t even have it in him to run through the murder plans that had been bouncing around his head.

Everything faded away as Tom felt the only thing in his life he had ever described as joy.

Only Hogwarts had ever been capable of that.

“-better year, and make so many friends,” Molly nattered on. She patted Tom’s shoulder, fully breaking his trance. Tom supressed a sneer as he turned to take in her gesturing towards the huddled golden trio. “And feel free to ask your brother for help. He _promised_ he’d keep a better eye on you this year!”

Ron’s back remained turned as he perused over a book Potter was showing him, but he did lift his arm to acknowledge the loathsome woman. His group was interrupted as Arthur intruded between them, pulling Harry away with a hurried apology.

Probably about to warn Potter off serial killers out to kill him. How unfortunate; he had been half hoping that Harry would blindly charge into an encounter with Black of his own accord.

Ron though… That pasty prick. Tom’s lips curled at the sight of the boy who was so buddy-buddy with Tom all summer, yet ditched his supposed sister for his friends the minute the opportunity arose. No wonder Ginny said in the diary that she couldn’t turn to Ron when she felt miserable, despite the fact that they too had likely spent much of their time together. The prick was as self-centered as they came.

Not that Tom cared, of course. Just more proof that any mild likeability that the Weasleys had been beginning to develop had been a fluke.

“I’ll handle Gin this year, mother,” Percy said, walking to stand next to Molly. He cleared his throat. “As head boy, I will be busy, but I will somehow make time-”

“To kiss your own ass?” said three voices at the same time.

Tom glanced at Fred and George, who shot him beaming grins and thumbs ups. He whipped his head away from them, and took off towards the train. No need to let the idiots keep rubbing off their sick blood traitor tendencies on him.

“Gin, wait, you still have to say goodbye to your father-” the same father talking with Harry bloody Potter? No thanks.

Tom dipped into the crowd, and pushed on towards the only thing that really mattered in the end.

**XXX**

Tom took stock of his possessions as the train lumbered into motion, the idle chugging of the vehicle along the track comfortable thanks to its direction. His selection of clothes was less ramshackle then the year previous. Molly had forked over a couple sickles from the remainder of their galleon draw winnings to get him longer robes after he had finally reconvened with the Weasley family in Diagon family and a few seamstress charms that Tom knew (one always had to look sharp in Slytherin) had straightened and tidied the ends of the second hand robes. At least this year he wouldn’t look like a pauper.

His collection of books was meager, but still satisfying. The basic books required for school, along with Bill’s old sixth year set (Percy had the seventh year books; Tom would have to knick those either off the boy or from the library), a few translation manuals bought during Tom’s solitary foray in Diagon Alley, the contents of nearly all of the Egyptian dark arts shop, and a single, slim book with a sleek cover that looked more like a magazine. Tom had grudgingly bought it: “A Witch’s Guide to Self-care and Beauty.”

His rat’s nest of hair was becoming too snarly to ignore as of late, and Molly wouldn’t be around any longer to brush his locks silky. Best to break any dependence on that woman as soon as possible.

Continuing on, Tom tucked his second, stolen wand into a holster he had sewed into his sleeve. His potions kit was tucked into the bottom of his suitcase, and the potions he had already begun brewing- a delusion inducing one and a mild tranquilizer- were tucked into a special pouch that would prevent spills. Couldn’t waste a single drop of plan numbers five and twelve to kill Potter.

Finally, he counted out his remaining money- only three sickels and seven knuts- and took stock of his packed lunch. Apple slices and a ham and swiss sandwich.

Molly had certainly short changed him from her usual cooking standard for the ride to Hogwarts. Though, considering the coming entrance feast, that may have been intentional… Old hag thought of everything, Tom grudgingly admitted. He glanced down at the hand written note that Molly had tucked in with the sandwich. How motherly of her.

He incinerated it with a quick flick of his wrist.

_Stop trying to lull me into a false sense of security,_ Tom angrily thought. As if he would ever fall for her motherly wiles.

Any satisfaction that could be wrought from that action was quickly forgotten, however. Because the train stopped- and suddenly, the world was _cold_.

It was the kind of ominous chill that Tom knew well- the sort that seeped through the cracks of an old attic room whose cracks were stuffed with stolen rags. It wrenched at the fingers, biting and aching, while shooting spasms up the back. Tom pulled his school robes around himself, his hands grasping for the threadbare sheets that he had had to steal, only for his hands to come away empty.

It was the kind of cold that left him with a feeling of complete weakness that he thought he left behind… Because- he had left it behind! Tom shook his head, and gathered his wits about him as he sat up straighter, no longer hunching.

Tom shook his head again, and readied his wand. A quick warming charm carried off most of the cold, though the window remained iced. The train remained stopped.

This certainly couldn’t mean anything good.

Tom cast a few more shield charms. He reinforced his previous locking charm on the door. And he waited.

And waited.

_And waited._

There was definitely something going on; an ominous presence had encroached towards Tom, but just as his adrenaline surged to deal with the threat, the presence passed. Then another ominous figure came closer to his door- and then passed as well.

Eventually, the chill faded away all together, though the memory lingered. The train lurched and continued its motion.

Tom hunched his shoulders. He disabled the excess shield charms, and reordered his things once again. Nothing of note had truly happened. It must have been dementors- what else could possibly be so cold? They had likely boarded the train searching for a certain stowaway. They hadn’t found any. Nothing was wrong, and he was fine. He was going to Hogwarts.

Tom breathed out, and clenched his hands.

He was going to Hogwarts.

“Anyone in there?” A familiar voice called from the door. “Anyone? This is your Headboy, Percy Weasley- are you alright? I, I have chocolate?”

Damn it, Percy. Tom didn’t need sweets right now, nor Percy’s awkward attempts at kindness. Like the kindnesses over the summer, when Percy made sure to cut the crusts off Tom’s bread and butter them heavily when he noticed that was how Tom liked them. How Percy tried to make the effort to be his version of a good older brother.

Not that Tom needed the coddling. What a wasted effort.

Tom curled into his seat, and kept his eyes open and dry as he stared out the window. He ignored Percy’s knocks upon the door, and kept himself seated.

He was going to Hogwarts.

**XXX**

“Did you hear? Potter _fainted_ on the train.”

“Probably nervous that the dementors were coming to take him off to Azkaban, cause of all he did last year...”

“I heard that over the summer the ministry tried to convict him for the petrifications; he got a trial and everything, but he threatened the Wizengamot and got off.”

“I’m pretty sure he got that trial for blowing some old broad up.”

“Still got off scott-free though…”

“He is Slytherin’s heir- no wonder he managed to ‘snake’ his way out of punishment. Maybe he’ll be joining up with Black too now that he’s out.”

“No, I’m pretty sure Potter’s starting a dark creature organization to gain more slaves, first.”

“Not like he can’t do his own dirty work. Potter petrified Diggory just to win the Quidditch cup last year.”

“At least he got pulled aside by Dumbledore before the feast- probably telling him he’s under watch, ‘cause he’s a dark wizard in the making!”

Tom stared blankly ahead as the multitude of children around him gossiped, and filled in the fresh firsties on the dreaded ‘Harry Potter’, the so-called Slytherin’s heir and apparent master of chaos. Little did they know Tom was the true mastermind, and they were praising an idiot instead of the real genius.

…Not that Tom wanted to get caught, of course. But still- Potter, getting all the credit? It was a necessary evil, but damned if the situation didn’t bite either way. And speaking of bite- these foolish comments and theories didn’t make for a very palatable meal.

“I heard Potter will become the next _dark lord, _more awful even than You-Know-Who!_”_

Okay, yeah, that was _it. _

“Shut. _Up._” Tom hissed.

Within a ten foot radius, all motioned ceased. Frozen Gryffindors stared at Tom with wide eyes.

“G-Ginny?” some dumbass younger boy asked. “A-are you alright? It feels, _heavy, _right now, like, like your magic is…” His eyes widened. “Yer brother hangs out with Potter- did he do something to you-”

“One more word about _Harry Potter _and I’ll spell this spoon to scoop out your eyes and shove them down your throats,” Tom darkly interrupted. Tom lifted his gaze to the other Gryffindors, some of whom halfway down the table had paused to stare at him with wide eyes. “If you all keep blabbering about Potter while I’m trying to enjoy my supper, you can be rest assured that the dementors lurking about the castle trying to suck out your waste of space souls will be the _least_ of your problems.”

For a moment, no one said anything. A dark haired boy stared with wide green eyes stared at Tom from the corner of his vision while a red-haired blob nudged him while smiling, but Tom ignored that.

Loser couldn’t properly defend himself and had to rely on Tom, his greatest enemy, to step in just to silence inane talk about the moron to keep it from sullying Tom’s own reputation as the _greatest _dark lord.

Idiot.

“Holy shit,” a darker skinned older girl whispered. “The twins’ sister _did_ go bonkers.”

A glare from Tom quickly made her whip her head back down to her plate.

Tom dipped his head back to his food, pleased with the ominous silence that surrounded his small bubble of space. Conversation picked up again as he began to eat, but there was no more talk of Potter. Small miracles.

They had new gossip to discuss.

“Such a doormat last year…”

“Got fed up on the train and cursed a bunch of fourth years within an inch of their lives-”

“Sat by herself through a dementor visit and doesn’t even look bothered!”

Let them talk. It was about time Tom developed a reputation for his cover more to his liking. ‘Ginny’ was not going to be a doormat anymore. He had thought it over during his final days at The Burrow, and he had decided that it would actually be safer for him to hide behind the guise of a hot-tempered Gryffindor. A quiet Gryffindor was infinitely more suspicious; the mongrels thrived on chaos, anarchy, and ‘glory’ after all. Dumbledore would buy into ‘feisty Ginevra Weasley’ in a heartbeat.

And feisty Ginevra Weasley was nothing like the Tom of before, so well-mannered and cunning. In all honesty, his ‘act’ was quite fun. Maybe he’d always had these hidden inclinations for violence and pranking hidden beneath his guise of the perfect Slytherin.

…He’d have to make sure he didn’t slip too much into the role.

“-got so hissy though. Do you think she still likes him?”

Tom’s lips pursed. He clenched his fingers around the fork in his hand, before letting it clatter to his plate so he could trade it for a more destructive weapon. He wrenched to stand and pointed his wand at the weasel faced boy sitting across from him at the Ravenclaw table.

“Want to take that back?” Tom sweetly asked.

The boy at the table stared at Tom’s outstretched wand with wide eyes, before her lips curled back in a sneer. “You were never this ballsy last year- there’s no way you’d attack me in the Great Hall-”

“You had your chance,” Tom kindly interrupted. His lips cracked into a wide grin. “_Nasum Vespertilio!”_

Watching bats crawl out of the screaming gossiper’s nose was absolutely worth the weeks’ worth of detention.

Though he could have done without Potter’s considering gaze.

**XXX**

In accordance with the serenity of Hogwarts, things settled to a modicum of ‘normal’ within the week.

Tom quickly established himself as top dog. Any stares were met with glares, and unwanted gossip was met with the occasional covert (or not so covert) spell, which according to the high fives he frequently received from the twins and the lectures spewed by Percy, meant he was doing something right.

The Golden Trio were dodged and ignored. Tom didn’t feel like being their latest (and likely only) recruit to S.P.E.C.T.R.A.L, the long winded acronym promoting elves and creatures and their dearest imprisoned friend Rubeus Hagrid.

Yeah, no thanks. Best to keep that headcase imprisoned.

Otherwise, plans were… going. His reputation required a decent amount of presence, so he couldn’t gallivant off to the room of requirement to conduct as many experiments as he would like. In addition, Potter would be monitored against all conventional charms and potions, which Tom had… decided to ignore (also known as, he forgot). Which meant that the potions he been brewing were hurrying towards an expiration date and couldn’t even be used on their intended target.

Thus, Tom would have to craft new, untraceable spells and charms. With ‘imagination’.

It was going… not so well.

Tom had never seen a purpose in learning spell creation. What was the point of dedicating hours upon hours to making a new, sub-par spell that required so much trial and error when someone out there had already done the heavy lifting? All Tom had ever had to do was rummage through books to find the answers to his problems, with only a mild tweak or two. That’s how he ever found out about Horcruxes to stay immortal!

But books failed him now. At first, Tom had brushed it off. How hard could it be to design new techniques to kill a thirteen year old boy so that you wouldn’t be traced by the spell itself through a magical imprint, or worse yet, a library search history?

(Spell crafting was stupidly difficult. Tom’s latest attempt at a stealth charm that ignored traditional sensor charms had set his left foot on fire and given him indigestion for days.)

The cherry on top of all of Tom’s current woes in murder scheming was the latest DADA professor in a string of bad hat jobs.

It wasn’t that the man was incompetent. In actuality, Remus John Lupin was likely the best teacher to hold the DADA position within at least a decade and a half. He had a way of engaging students in lessons, laughing and smiling with the students. He could back talk Snape without being _too _petty, he gave equal points between the houses, and he genuinely cared for the success of his students.

But he was also a disgusting werewolf with no sense of style that somehow had the possibility of breaking the DADA curse.

Mind you, Tom didn’t know much about this curse, but he had looked through the hiring trends of Hogwarts. Odd, that a year after the… ‘real’ Tom had graduated, the DADA post couldn’t hold down a teacher for a year, sometimes less.

If Tom had made the curse (which he clearly had) he would have used a conditional loop spell on the castle, and interfered with the castle’s latent magic that usually gave passive protection to the teachers and students while defending the castle itself. With the right tweaking, the castle could likely be convinced to create probability matrices that increased the odds of… ‘eviction’ for teachers that fell short of very high standards for a certain teaching position.

And Abraxus had called Arithmancy a waste of time. Idiot.

What Tom assumed his past (future?) self had done had clearly worked. But that brought Tom back to his current issue.

“And you finish with a flick of the wrist- like this!” The scruffy DADA teacher gave a graceful twist of his arm that ended with a sharp flick, and a glowing barrier burst into formation in front of him. It looked solid enough that it could have even stopped an air strike roof cave in.

Lupin smiled at the class as he lowered his wand. “This spell, along with expelliarmus, are you two most basic- and important- defence spells. Your opponent can’t attack you if they can’t hit you, or cast a spell at all.” Lupin gave a wave of his wand, and the entire class blinked in surprise as numerous blackboards suddenly were graced with diagrams of wand movements and stances, with the chalk figures moving back and forth across the board as they began their spells again and again.

“We’ll focus on getting these basics down first, and pair your spell knowledge with lessons on defensive thinking.” At the grumbles from the class, Lupin lifted a hand and waved away the coming complaints with a laugh. “I know, I know, it’s boring compared to the spellwork, but these spells aren’t very useful if you don’t know when or in which situation to use them.”

Lupin pointed at the board. “That’s what second year is about- learning the beginning real-world applications of magic. First years will end their year with a spell or two, and the third years are on to creatures that may require such Defense Against Dark Arts skills. The older years learn about dueling, Dark Arts’ laws, counter curses, first aid, and numerous attack spells that leave, oh, bats coming out of their friends’ noses.”

Lupin tilted his head towards Tom, a small smile gracing his lips. The glass giggled, and Tom hunched in his seat and glared at the man, who ignored Tom’s dark look to finish his lesson.

“I think we’ll have a fun year, don’t you? It’s the best kind of class to let off stress when you get free reign to whip your friend’s wand out of their hand and send it flying at their face. ” Lupin’s lips pulled into a surprisingly boyish grin that defied the scars that bisected and pockmarked his face. It made him look ten years younger.

The class laughed again- they kept falling for the man’s meager jokes- and Lupin gave another sweep of his hand towards the board.

“It’s only your second lesson, so all I want is for everyone to have taken a few notes from the board, and have read up on the shield charm for next week. If the class goes smoothly, we’ll be able to start some mock fights soon.”

Lupin shrugged. “And, if we finish that quickly, we’d finish the disarming charm sooner; and then the theory sooner… well, then we may have time during this semester to work on a few jinxes of our own before Christmas, mm?”

The class gave a cheer of excitement, of anticipation… and Tom cursed the werewolf in front of him once again.

If outside forces didn’t interfere, the man may prove himself competent to the castle- and break the DADA curse.

That wasn’t allowed to happen.

Tom raised his hand. The other students were now copying the notes that Tom had already completed with a transcription charm. Lupin walked over to him and smiled. “Yes, Ms. Weasley?”

Tom smiled. “I was wondering, sir,” Tom said, and made sure to lilt his voice louder than necessary for the rest of class to hear, “whether the class may look ahead into the third year curriculum if we get ahead in our course.”

“A good idea in theory, but I’m sure that second year would be better spent learning the principles and basic practices of defense first. Especially considering the degree of… ‘education’ you received last year.”

Nice jab at the incompetence in human form that was Lockhart. And also technically a good point, but Tom didn’t care about a bunch of midgets’ foundational education as much as he did furthering his own schemes.

Tom nodded. “I agree, but- oh, I’m ever so interested in the dangers of magical creatures, and I’m sure others are as well. It’s a full moon, a week from now, did you know?” Tom lips peeled wider. “It would be _fascinating_ to learn of the dangers of something as monstrous as a _werewolf_ from one so… experienced with the Dark Arts- of ‘defense’- such as yourself.”

Lupin’s face was definitely paler then before. It made his scars shine more distinctly, and Tom delighted in the way they twitched as the man swallowed. But then something odd happened. The lines around Lupin’s mouth smoothed into a very slight smirk. The man _winked._

Tom froze. What in the bloody…

“Ah, Ms. Weasley, I understand the burning curiosity for this subject you must have,” he began, just as loudly and over-pronounced as Tom had been, “and while I cannot set aside essential class time for side topics, I would _love_ to assign extra credit work to those that desire the chance to research a topic of their fancy, or just work for a better grade.

“I’m ever so glad to have a keen volunteer,” Lupin said, and looked directly into Tom’s eyes. “I’ll make sure to set aside the topics of werewolves _specifically for you_, Ms. Weasley.”

_Cornered._ Tom grit his teeth. “That would be delightful. But the parameters of outside research-”

Lupin waved away the attempted deflection. “Not a worry at all- I’ll talk things over with Dumbledore and put a small program in place.” Lupin shrugged. “What kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t encourage diversity in your educations?”

Lupin lifted his head and sighed. “To maintain individuality with any side projects though, I ask that any other interested students pick different topics of research or interest- as this is a side project done for extra credit, I don’t want to allow any room for copying to earn sneaked grades. Does that sound fair to all of you?”

No it bloody didn’t! That would mean Tom, who _already _knew Lupin was a werewolf, would be the only one allowed to research werewolves!

The rest of the class did not concur with Tom’s internal panic. Like the brainwashed minions they were, they nodded in agreement and stared up at Lupin with starry eyes.

Lupin beamed. “Excellent!” he glanced at his watch, and then snapped his fingers. The boards began to clear. “Off to your next class with you lot, then- wouldn’t want you to miss transfiguration with Professor McGonagall. She’d have my _hide_ for making you late.”

That smug piece of shit- he had looked directly at Tom when he said ‘hide’. He was making his own inside jokes about being a werewolf to him! That self-righteous, smarmy asshole…

But well-played, Tom grudgingly acknowledged. Very well-played…

**XXX**

**Bonus: How Tom knew Remus was a werewolf**

Tom: Obviously, it was my superior intellect. I instantly pegged him as a variety of dark creature; it was simply a matter of running options through comparisons, debating against Dumbledore’s tendencies, noticing certain characteristics Lupin possessed-

Edge: That sounds like a load of crap.

Tom: W-what? I beg your pardon-

Edge: You heard me. You literally knew him for, like, five days? At most? (My timelines already falling apart…) He hadn’t even missed class due to werewolf transformations at that point.

Tom: Well. You can’t seem to understand, with that small, muggle brain of yours, but I used deduction and reasoning- my own superior skill- to ascertain Lupin’s true nature.

Edge: No, I definitely had something written out for this that just didn’t fit into the scene transition. Let me just check through my notes…

Tom: Wait, don’t-

Edge: Ah HA! Behold!

**XXX**

McGonagall forced Tom to sit down. Her face was beet red (an odd expression, Tom pondered to himself, considering beets were rather purple) and she seemed incapable of speech.

“First day- my house- bat bogey hex- ahh!” McGonagall glared down at Tom. “You will wait here, in the staff room, until I have dealt with the beginning of term house-management. Once I return, we will discuss a suitable punishment.” McGonagall shook her head as she stood straight, and she gave a quick pat down of her robes as she strode towards the door of the staff room.

“Just like her brothers- worse! Just like the Marauders… as bad as corralling Mr. Jordan during a quidditch game…” McGonagall muttered to herself as she left.

Well, she certainly had tightened up since her school days. Tom still remembered the legend of Minerva out-drinking the rest of the Gryffindor quidditch team after they won the cup in Tom’s third, and McGonagall’s sixth, year. ‘Mad Min’ had seemingly channeled her rage and fire to more… ‘respectable’ paths.

What a shame. She had been, according to other Slytherin’s, a party worthy friend despite being a ‘Ruddy Gryffindor’ in her hay day.

Well. Either way, Tom would be waiting here, in the staff room, for an undisclosed amount of time. Min had apparently become more stupid as well.

Ten minutes later Tom was just finishing spelling the coffee machine to only produce decaf when the door to the staff room finally opened.

“-have your Wolfsbane ready for the next Friday. A waste of ingredients to ease your pain, if you ask me. The education budget should not be liable to pay for a teacher’s drug addiction.”

From where Tom had dipped behind a nearby shelf, he could hear everything. The first drawl was unmistakeable: Snape. But who was he with?

“I wouldn’t call medication that keeps me from killing innocents a drug, Severus,” a dry voice responded. “Though I find it odd that you consider preventing death such a waste of time. How… indicative.”

_Get told, Snape_, Tom thought to himself with glee. The second voice was unfamiliar though- a peek wouldn’t hurt…

“You never change- or rather, you change too _much_, Lupin,” Snape mockingly said. Tom glanced around the corner- yes, it was Snape- and the other man was the new DADA professor, Remus Lupin. He looked upon Snape like one looked upon a mildly distasteful vegetable on their plate. Willing to ignore it, but aware enough of its presence to be dissatisfied with their meal.

Snape continued on with his tirade. “You mark my words, I will _dance_ when you are cast away from Hogwarts. And not just because you’re a loathsome creature whose friends are all dead, or as good as. I will dance because your just desserts will come when the world find out you’re a werewo-”

“Quiet,” Lupin interrupted.

“Quiet? How _dare-_”

Snape didn’t get to finish that thought. Lupin took a distinct breath in- he had likely been holding his breath during his entire talk with Snape, to be honest (the man’s hair wasn’t just greasy for show) and immediately his gaze honed towards Tom.

Lupin’s eyes widened, before he forced his mouth to flat-line into an even tempered smile. “Ms. Weasley, I presume? I believe it’s best that you head off to bed. A few of the older Gryffindors were caught sneaking in man eating slugs, as teenage girls are wont to do, and so Professor McGonagall will be unable to dispense your punishment at this time.”

Tom crept around the corner of the cabinet. He kept his lips pinched and his head down, but he didn’t miss the distinct _smile_ that Snape had thrown in Lupin’s direction.

Lupin held the door open for Tom, and gave one final quirk of his lips. “By the way- that bat bogey hex- phenomenal work. I look forward to teaching you in the coming school year, Ginevra.”

And I look forward to blackmailing you with whatever _that_ just was, Tom thought back.

**XXX**

“Vampire? No. Seelie? No. Werewolf… werewolf?” Tom paused. He sat up straighter in his bed. “Wolfsbane? Must be a new potion... Next Friday- a _full moon_…” Tom face palmed. “But why is his name _Lupin_? Just like Lupine… And Remus, like the story from Rome? One of those twins who were _raised by a wolf? _It’s like his parents knew he would become infected, or they were sadistic enough to name a werewolf child Remus. My God.”

Tom groaned. “So obvious I discarded it at first as the option; I would have figured it out sooner and got more sleep if it wasn’t so ridiculous…”

**XXX**

Edge: So, the answer was handed to you on a silver platter.

Tom: I had to put together the pieces!

Edge: Pieces of what? A nine-piece kids’ puzzle?

Tom: I shouldn’t have to be subject to this, you stupid muggle… Wait. Stupid muggle! Avada-

Edge: End chapter! END CHAPTER!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously though- I had no clue how I wanted to do that scene transition, so you get my disturbed 'author talks with character dialogue' that I thought I put behind me after junior high ;_; 
> 
> Thanks again to all who give kudos, bookmark this story, or comment. Your guys' support is much appreciated :)


	11. Distractions and Serial Killers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom starts an educational scam, loses track of his evil schemes, and ALMOST meets a serial killer.

“Who in their right mind would charge three galleons for _hair_ product?!” Tom hissed to himself.

He threw the catalogue he had been perusing on his bed, and he leaned back against his pillows with a sigh. His red hair frizzed around his face, as apparently, ‘humidity’ was a thing that made hair into a living hell-fiend of destruction. Fucking Scotland.

It would have been nice if there had been a handy spell to fix Tom’s current problem. But alas- Hogwarts had many books, a veritable archive of information from the past twelve hundred years, but sadly, Hogwarts didn’t have anything published within the last eighty years if it wasn’t a textbook.

Hence, the Feminine products catalogue Tom had stolen from Lavender Brown, as apparently, the ‘Young Girls Maintenance’ book he had bought for himself had only been a ramshackle of friendship bracelet guides and braiding styles. Disgusting.

Tom could steal money for the items in the catalogue that he had pilfered, but he knew that wouldn’t end well. If it was ever traced back to him, he’d fall under the less favourable radar of the teachers, and have to contend with pouty victims. Asking ‘home’ for money was also a no-go. The whole point of buying hair product (and eventually, potions and other tools to use in imminent murder schemes) on his own was to wean his dependence on the Weasleys. He didn’t need to latch onto them for support, or go crawling to Molly to let her continue to ‘mother’ him. Besides. They didn’t have the money to spare on these kind of small and private things of Tom’s.

Not that Tom cared about the Weasleys financial situation, of course.

Tom rolled to his side, and pinched his lips as he continued to think. Money. _Money_. How did he get money before? Mostly extortion, and pawning off presents gifted to him by his stupidly rich housemates. That wouldn’t work here, for the first reason of why he couldn’t steal money, and for the second, Tom didn’t feel like catering to a rich clientele again to eat their scraps. He was beyond that!

So. How?

“…Flitwick is being so unreasonable,” a squeaky voiced girl said as she entered the second year Gryffindor girl’s dormitory. “A page and a half on the pros and cons of different light charms? Who has the time, when Snape is shoving essays down our throats every other week!”

Tom rolled his eyes, and shifted so his back was facing the entering girls. Tom had finished that piece of homework in twenty minutes. What a bunch of slackers.

“Yeah!” The girl’s companion responded. She paused to let something drop to the ground with a thump (likely her book-bag) and her mattress squeaked as she threw herself onto the bed two down from Tom’s. “And don’t get me started on McGonagall’s spell practice. How can we make time to practice spells every night when she makes us look up dumb things like animagus registers?” She sighed. “Daddy says that research is for _researchers_, not business people. These are the kind of things I would pay someone to just do for me someday.”

Tom froze.

He ignored whatever the squeaky voiced girl responded with. He was too busy calculating homework listings in his head as the girls continued to blabber.

One page research topic: three sickles. Each additional page another sickle.

“…Lovegood is weird like always, and seems to be flocking to different people to try and make ‘allies against Snapweasels’ with. Heard she was asking what redheads…”

An essay: five sickles. An extra sickle and knut for varying degrees of completeness and thought put into it.

“…nny, she’s creepier than ever. Before, she was always muttering while writing in that diary, and now, cursing people? On top of her obsession with the wannabe dark lord…”

Comprehensive self-updating study notes: three galleons.

“…heard Joyce say Mandy Millwright in Slytherin caught her staring at Potter _all _the time-”

“Enough of your gossip,” Tom interrupted. The brown haired girls sitting cross legged on one of the beds jumped, and angled away from where Tom loomed over them, their eyes widening. “I overheard the two of you, before.”

The girl on the left, whose hair was in a rather sleek pony tail (how had she managed to make it so smooth??) swallowed. “G-Ginny! Since when were you here-” Tom narrowed his eyes, and the girl immediately blanched. “W-we swear we didn’t mean anything by it, G-Ginny,” she whispered.

Her friend violently bobbed her head. “Y-yeah! Potter’s not, not that bad. And, and we haven’t talked with anyone else about your cru-”

Tom groaned. “This isn’t about Potter. This is about neither of you ever having to write another paper for Snape or Flitwick again- for the right price.”

Both girls blinked. They cocked their heads, like the keen dogs that Tom knew they were.

Hook, line, and sinker.

As Tom explained his spontaneously made price range and conditions (no blabbing to the teachers, prefects, or Granger, obviously) he wondered what garbage was being spread about Potter, and apparently, himself as well. What conclusions had people drawn? Had… had someone learned that Tom wanted to kill Potter?!

…No. They couldn’t have. It was probably nothing, or at least nothing of real importance. Who actually cared about pubescent gossip? Not Tom.

The pony tailed girl smiled at Tom, her eyes now no longer skittering away from Tom’s every glance. “Thanks, Ginny!” Tom glared. The girl’s eyes widened, and she swallowed. “Right- Gin.” She carefully nodded. “And don’t worry- we won’t tell anyone at all, about all that stuff. Girls gotta have her secrets, right?”

Her companion gave another of her violent head bobs.

…Did they just condone his plan’s to murder Potter? Damn. Twelve year old girls were savage.

Tom looked at the two of them in consideration, before allowing a smile to bleed onto his face. “Actually,” Tom drawled, “I _do _want you to gossip about me. I’ll give the two of you a free trial run if you can spread the word of my new… business. To the right people, of course.”

At least pubescent gossipers were good for something.

**XXX**

Things kicked off fairly quickly after that, and if Tom wished to he could have actually rolled in the money he accumulated.

Though, considering wizards only used hard coins that would stab into his back if he rolled on them, that probably wasn’t the best idea.

Regardless, Tom finally had a modicum of wealth. His clientele was mostly the second years, with a few first years desperately buying his notes, but he was sure that as his prowess became more known that older students would come knocking as well.

The only real downside so far was that it also attracted weird clients like Lovegood. The space case weirdo kept trying to run a so called ‘Ad Campaign’ for Tom- something about the ‘power of friendship’ fueling ‘their’ corporate superpower in the form of an ‘Education Scam Monopoly’. Tom had blacklisted her from getting future access to Tom’s ‘business’ after the third time the buggy eyed girl tried strangling him with one of her metal edged deathtraps- sorry, ‘bottlecap friendship necklaces’.

That girl just kept coming back despite how many times he hit her with a sensory deprivation charm. Watching that girl fumble around blind and deaf trying to reach him through sheer determination was starting to get… _suspicious._

As long as she didn’t stray into the stalker levels of _that woman_ from Tom’s first go around in Hogwarts though, Tom would continue to mostly ignore her.

Regardless of blond airheads, and how the ‘business’ took up a fair chunk of his time (he had to make each assignment handed in individual so that it couldn’t be tracked, on top of doing his own schoolwork) the pay-off was still worth it. Tom’s hair was sleek and smooth thanks to the brush he had bought that came equipped with a detangling charm, and a tub of ‘Liquid Shine’ had him absentmindedly looking at his reflection from time to time whenever he passed a mirror or a particularly reflective window.

It apparently didn’t matter what body Tom was in- he looked fantastic. With the exception of the freckles… he’d have to look in a charm for removing those…

The changes weren’t just appearance wise, however. Looking the part of a superior being with fabulous hair was only part of what made people look at Tom twice. Whereas Ginny was an orange-ish blemish on the world, Tom stood out. His confident stride, underground business, and newfound propensity to curse or prank anyone who looked down on him was drawing attention.

And the best part was- no one really questioned it. Oh sure, they made a mild fuss at first about how quiet and meek ‘Ginny’ had been last year, but as was standard, people just shrugged away drastic personality changes that girls underwent during the throws of puberty. And if anything was further from the normal beyond that, then ‘Ginny’s’ change was attributed to the Weasleys, and the effect that having six older brothers could have on any girl.

Tom had nearly had a heart attack the other day, when he caught Dumbledore, of all people, smiling and giving Tom his classic eye-twinkle after he told off some older years that tried to cajole secrets on the twins’ upcoming pranks from him. The old coot had simply said, “Family first is a wonderful policy, Ms. Weasley,” and had carried on his way, happily ignoring the fact that Tom had his wand out and had been about to remove the pants of one of the twitching boys who had planned to ‘enlist the younger twerp’ to take down the demonic older Weasleys.

As if Tom would ever be someone’s underling.

And though Dumbledore’s inability to spot a snake had caught Tom off guard, it had, for once, been a pleasant surprise. All Tom needed now was a boy-who-died via Sirius Black and a permanent reason to remain in Hogwarts, and he’d be golden.

Alas, those plans were not quite ready yet, but life went on. Tom made money and drew in his first third-year client as the second month of school came to a close, while the twin’s made an entire flight of highly trafficked stairs vanish for two days, making students everywhere late for class. In addition Tom nearly beat Ron in a game of chess when said boy took a fleeting break from his inane work with ‘SPECTRAL’; Tom would have won too if the damn brat hadn’t continued to successfully cheat.

“Three people had almost joined,” Ron informed him while casually killing his queen as Tom desperately attempted to save at least his bishop, “but those blokes wanted in it cause they thought SPECTRAL was some spooky ghost sex cult.”

Immediately following that line Percy had descended upon where they were in the common room like some deranged homing pigeon. He whacked Ron over the head with a book for “blemishing Gin’s innocence!” which made both Tom and Ron roll their eyes.

He also began to send letters to both Charlie and Bill. They were both a wealth of knowledge in their respective fields, and despite being Weasleys, were downright tolerable. Tom sometimes even caught himself writing, and when he went over his words to ‘Ginevra proof’ them, found that the words he spoke as himself were still good enough to send to his ‘brothers’ without editing. They did not treat him like a stupid pubescent girl whose only friend was a diary she gushed her heart and soul and body to. They treated Tom like Tom- and he could respond almost exactly how he wanted to.

Tom couldn’t remember the last time he had actually penned his own true words in something other than his diary.

It was almost serene, how time passed by, floating along with such moments that stood out. It must have been the fact that he was in Hogwarts- that had been the only place in Tom’s life that had ever brought him joy- but Tom had never recalled it being quite this enjoyable before.

His time in the diary must have dulled his memories. Surely things had been just as good back in 1943… surely…

Regardless, moments of joy seemed easy to come by. In specific, the two times so far that Snape had substituted for Lupin, and him and Tom had spent the entire class discussing Tom’s ‘research project’ on werewolves, along with the dozen plus possible ways to identify one of said beasts.

(The children _cheered_ when Lupin finally returned to teach class again, much to Tom’s consternation. The fools had to be willfully blind- Tom had even seen two Ravenclaws gift Lupin ‘get well soon’ chocolates after the recent full moon. Ridiculous!)

As well, Tom had…

Tom. Had…

Tom stopped, freezing suddenly in the middle of the hallway on his way to the Halloween feast.

Someone bumped into him from behind.

Tom ignored their apology as his heart began to pound.

_What the hell was he doing._

Nothing with murdering Potter, or getting Sirius Black into the castle, or reading any of those damn books he stole from Egypt about the dark arts.

Well. He had hardly the time! He had to operate his business to make enough money for his potions, first and foremost…

_Though you had time to play Ron in chess_, Tom snidely reprimanded himself. And he even took the time to send letters upon letters to people that _didn’t matter_. He had continued to set up his reputation as Gin Weasley, resident badass… but. Did he have to invest so much time in the public?

Tom pivoted on his heel. _Screw the feast_, he thought, and pushed passed the crowd as he ignored his growling stomach. Back to the dorms! He would research, and find Black, and kill Harry God damn Potter!

_What the hell have you been doing?_ Echoed again in Tom’s head as he turned the steps to encounter the Fat Lady, who raised an eyebrow at his return. Tom wished he could answer that question. All he did know was that it was probably the Weasleys’ fault.

Well. First order of business, then! Tom would read up on the wonderful books he had stolen in Egypt, and plan just how he was going to get a serial killer into Hogwarts.

**XXX**

Tom was carrying out these tasks while comfortably flopped in one of the fireside armchairs when he was rudely interrupted.

“Gin! Oh my gosh, are you alright?!”

Tom lifted his head, only to see Percy panting in front of him. The remaining Weasleys attending Hogwarts, along with Potter, the mudblood, and even an assortment of other pesky Gryffindors, edged around the fringes. McGonagall, as Tom watched, exited the common room. Her expression was grim.

He must have been so absorbed in his books that he hadn’t even noticed them come in. Tom carefully closed his book, and shifted it so that the title was not visible. He’d really have to spell false covers on all his deadly and dark books later.

“Yes?” Tom said, “Why wouldn’t I-”

“Thank god you didn’t run into Sirius Black,” Fred interrupted. He took a step forward and poked his finger right in the center of Tom’s forehead. While Tom was busy hissing and batting the boy’s hand away, George came up from behind his chair to rap harshly on Tom’s head with his knuckles.

“Yeah! You’re probably demonic hellspawn, but even you would be in trouble with a crazy serial killer.”

What in the world were they talking about??

Percy nodded as he took in Tom’s overall confusion. “Ah, thankfully, it appears the sound dampening charms worked, as always. You weren’t even aware that Black tried to break into the common room.”

…What?!

“He tore the Fat Lady to shreds and everything,” Fred continued. He poked Tom again, with no resistance from the boy himself this time- Tom was too stunned to intervene. “You’re almost as bad a trouble magnet as Harry!”

“That, or it’s still Potter that’s the trouble magnet,” someone else that had arrived from the feast said off to the side. Tom cranked his head to see what appeared to be three third years glaring at Potter. One of them was that kid that was always blowing himself up. Finnalan, or somesuch. “Black was probably trying to meet up with his co-conspirator… How do you think he even got into Hogwarts in the first place-”

“Imbeciles!” Potter’s mudblood interjected, and Tom almost wanted to call trade mark infringement on her using one of his favourite and most widely used words. She stomped right up to the boy and two girls, and stuck her finger right in the face of the boy who had spoken. “Harry was at the feast all night! You pointing fingers willy-nilly just shows how terrible you really are!”

Ironic, considering Granger was the only one literally pointing her finger.

“I missed Black… by _this much_,” Tom said to himself in disbelief. He internally screamed. A bright and shining opportunity- wasted! He could have let Black into the common room, and then let him jump Harry after the boy came back from the feast!

“I know, Gin, it’s quite scary,” Percy consoled. He pushed past Fred to absentmindedly pat at Tom’s head. “But you’re safe, and that’s what counts.” Fred and George both hummed, and without further ado joined Percy in mockingly patting Tom’s head.

“What counts is that you greasy louts all get your paws off of me!-”

Tom was interrupted by Ron finally joining the conversation. The boy was still next to, respectively, the silent and bowed head Potter, and the now returned and enraged Granger. Ron himself had gone almost deathly pale. “Mum’s gonna go bonkers when she finds out a serial killer almost offed Gin.”

Tom froze in his attempts to savage his “brothers’” hands. All three of the other Weasleys froze as well.

Percy concisely summed up their collective thoughts with a single word.

“SHIT.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad news all- no clue when new chapters will next come out. I literally have the final few chapters of third year finished, but all the inbetween bits are stutter stopping the whole fic. With luck, it will not be as large of a hiatus as in the past. Thanks again for all the reviews, kudos, and bookmarks. Knowing someone else is enjoying my chaotic Weasley!Tom crack is always nice :) In the meantime, stay happy, healthy, and safe!


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